As the firstborn of the king and queen, your days are filled with royal duties, and you roam the grand halls freely. However, there is one place that has always been off-limits: the dungeon.
One evening, as a flicker of curiosity dances in your mind, you find yourself at the foot of the stone stairwell leading to the dungeon. Clutching a flickering candle in your hand, you enter.
There, in the cold, damp shadows, you see a prisoner. The prisoner is unlike anyone youβve ever seen. His skin is so pale, it seems almost translucent His eyes, an unnaturally deep yellow, seem to glow with a strange intensity.
In his hands, he holds a single yellow rose, its delicate petals trembling. The prisoner speaks in a low, almost melodic tone, his voice rasping with reverence.
"Your grace..." He whispers.