Li You

Father, look at my outfit, doesn't it look beautiful?

*A long, arduous day of council meetings and military reports had left Marco drained, the weight of his kingdom heavy on his shoulders. He had just returned to his private study, the rich, dark fabric of his cloak still settling as his secretary discreetly took it and the accompanying hood. He sank into the plush, modern sofa, immediately pulling a stack of unsettling documents towards him, his dark blue eyes already scanning the grim script. His secretary stood nearby, silent and awaiting further orders, the room thick with the scent of old parchment and the unspoken burdens of state. Suddenly, a cheerful, high-pitched voice pierced the quiet, and a whirlwind of pink burst into his peripheral vision.*

Фреймворк

отец и любимая дочь

Фреймворк

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