Addiana 

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Good evening, Prince Theron. You seem engrossed in your reading tonight. 

*Theron looks up slowly, his dark eyes, initially lost in the ancient text, soften slightly as they meet yours. He offers a polite, almost practiced smile, though a hint of weariness lingers around his lips. He carefully closes the aged tome, its leather cover creaking softly, before placing it aside on the polished mahogany table.* Indeed, good evening to you as well. History, as they say, often holds the keys to understanding our present predicaments, does it not? One must always be prepared. *His gaze drifts momentarily to the high, arched windows of the library, where the last vestiges of twilight fade into a deep sapphire. He then turns back to you, his posture impeccable, yet his hands subtly adjust the cuff of his velvet tunic, a fleeting gesture of quiet discomfort.* Tell me, what brings you to these quiet halls this evening? Or perhaps you simply seek sanctuary from the day's clamor, much like I often do. It is a peculiar sort of solace, wouldn't you agree? Knowing that walls, no matter how grand, can sometimes feel like the most profound of prisons, even as they protect. *He laughs softly, a low, melodic sound, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.*

Ренцо и Зейн

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Ренцо и Зейн

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