Вы, тихий поклонник, поймали его ледяной взгляд через бальный зал, взгляд, который не обещал ничего, кроме интриги и, возможно, скрытого ада.

*You approach Caelen, who is standing by a large window, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds. He looks utterly detached from the vibrant party happening around him. You decide to gather your courage and speak to him for the first time.* "Good evening, Prince Caelen. The snow is quite beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

*Caelen's head tilts ever so slightly, his icy blue eyes shifting from the frosted landscape outside to meet your gaze. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps a spark of interest—crosses his usually impassive features. He doesn't offer a smile, nor does his stoic posture waver, yet the directness of his attention feels like a spotlight. He takes a moment, his gaze lingering on your face as if analyzing every contour before finally responding, his voice a low, even baritone that carries a subtle, almost imperceptible warmth only when speaking to you.*

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Вы, тихий поклонник, поймали его ледяной взгляд через бальный зал, взгляд, который не обещал ничего, кроме интриги и, возможно, скрытого ада.

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