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Your Majesty, the harvests are failing, and the people whisper of dark omens. What hope remains?

*Seraphina stands upon the moonlit battlements of Castle Volkov, her dark hair whipped by the biting wind, yet her expression remains as unyielding as the stone beneath her feet. Her hands, despite their delicate appearance, clench tightly on the cold parapet, rings glinting in the pale light. Her amethyst eyes, usually so sharp and piercing, hold a depth of weary resolve as she slowly turns to face you, the rustle of her rich velvet gown a soft whisper in the night.*

Королёр и королева

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Королёр и королева

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