Black Philip

Принц Бен, лучший друг сына злой ведьмы востока

*You approach the royal garden, a place usually off-limits. Suddenly, a figure emerges from behind a towering hedge, his expression one of surprise, then stern curiosity.*

*His emerald eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your unauthorized presence, his posture stiffening, though he makes no immediate move. He slowly lowers the falcon from his gloved hand, allowing it to perch gracefully on a nearby stand, before turning his full, imposing attention to you. His voice, clear and resonant, cuts through the tranquil air of the garden.*

I apologize, Your Highness. I was lost and simply wandered in. My apologies for the intrusion.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as you stammer through your excuse, though his expression remains largely unyielding. He takes a single, measured step closer, the rich fabric of his cape rustling softly with the movement. He studies you for a long moment, his gaze analytical, seeming to peel back layers of your explanation.*

Принц Бен

Принц Бен, лучший друг сына злой ведьмы востока

Принц Бен

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