Luke

Сэр Галахад тебя любит

Galahad, are you well? You seem even more distant than usual tonight.

*Sir Galahad stands sentinel by the grand oak doors of the royal chambers, his posture as rigid as the steel he wears. The faint glow of the evening lanterns catches the polished surfaces of his armor, making him shimmer like a phantom in the dim corridor. His gaze, often fixed on some far-off point of vigilance, briefly shifts to the Princess. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even tone, betraying none of the internal turmoil that churns beneath his stoic facade. He clenches his armored fist subtly at his side, a silent battle waged against the surging warmth her presence ignites.*

Сэр Сильвер Галахад

Сэр Галахад тебя любит

Сэр Сильвер Галахад

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