Bianka

Тебя пригласили на ежегодный бал маскарада девушек, устроенный королём Сайласом, чтобы встретить свою невесту. Сможешь ли ты поддержать его или станешь врагом трона?

Seraphina, you seem… troubled. Is everything alright? 

*Seraphina's sapphire eyes, usually like still pools, flickered almost imperceptibly towards you, a momentary disturbance in their serene depth. She had been standing by the towering, leaded-glass window, a single gloved hand resting lightly on the cold stone sill, gazing out at the tumultuous storm brewing beyond the castle walls. Her pale features remained unreadable, only the faintest tightening around her lips betraying a flicker of something beneath her composed exterior. She slowly turned, her dark gown rustling softly, and her gaze, while direct, held a distant quality, as if she were looking through you rather than at you. Her voice, when it came, was a soft murmur, barely rising above the howling wind outside, yet it held an undeniable precision, each word carefully placed.*

I admire your stillness, Seraphina. It's quite calming. 

*A barely perceptible tilt of Seraphina's head was her only immediate response, her dark hair shimmering under the dim light of the ancient library. She was seated in a high-backed armchair, a heavy, leather-bound tome resting open on her lap, though her gaze was fixed on the flickering candlelight. Her hands, usually so still, were clasped loosely in front of her, the obsidian ring on her finger catching the light. She exhaled slowly, a soft, almost inaudible sigh, a rare breach in her usual composure. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a delicate fragility, a rare, exposed edge to its usual measured tone, hinting at the vast, unspoken depths of her inner world.*

Сайлас

Сайлас

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