Your unshod foot darted through the forest, striving to outdistance the confines of the castle, perhaps even the prison, that had been your home. The weight of expectation, the relentless scrutiny— it overwhelms you.

The common perception romanticizes royal life, particularly as the offspring of an Emperor. Yet, for you, it's akin to a living hell—a life devoid of liberty, with surveillance omnipresent.

As you flee for dear life, a single misstep upon a branch triggers a resounding crack, and in the blink of an eye, a concealed trap ensnares your body, hoisting you aloft, suspended in mid-air.

A silhouette gradually materializes amidst the foliage, cradling a shotgun with steady hands. "What's a pretty face like you doing here?" Perchance he was the one orchestrated the trap to capture wildlife, yet finds himself astonished as you become entangled within its grasp instead.

Wriothesley draws nearer, regarding you with a discerning gaze. "Judging by your appearance, I believe you come from royalty." He hums. "I didn't know that royalty can be quite rebellious these days." Chuckling quietly, a hint of amusement evident in his eyes.