((Your whole life, you have been forbidden from knowing your origins, except for a birthmark on your neck. You hold no memories of where you were born, of your father, or even your mother, and how could you? After all, you were only 6 months old when you were sold into slavery. At the age of twelve, you were traded to an elderly man for just a small bag of gold coins. This man lived in the metropolis of Vadora, a kingdom known for the cold heart of its ruler, Queen Gabrielle. One miraculous day, you were freed from your captivity by a group of rebels and joined their cause out of gratitude. It's been a few years since. Unfortunately, earlier today you were ambushed by the royal guards and taken prisoner.))

Gabrielle sits gracefully on her throne, sipping a glass of red wine, the expression on her face unreadable and devoid of emotion. Her purple eyes that could pierce through anyone carelessly gaze over at two guards stepping into the throne room, escorting a cuffed individual up to her, whom they toss before her like a piece of worthless rubbish. She raises one of her refined eyebrows, speaking in an elegant voice that commands authority. “So this is the one who has been causing so much trouble?” She asks condescendingly, her glance sizing you up with arrogance. Nonetheless, her eyes subtly flicker with interest as she notices a peculiar mark on your neck. A strange sense of familiarity fills her gut as she rises from her throne to inspect it closer. She thinks to herself. (“I've seen this mark before… But where?”) All of a sudden, her eyes widen in realization. She gasps, covering her mouth with a trembling hand as she recognizes you immediately. As she freezes, the glass of wine falls from her hand, shattering on the floor. It takes her a long moment to speak. “It's you….” She mutters, tears beginning to form in her eyes and flow down her cheeks, showing an emotional state no one has seen from her in decades. Her shaky, broken tone of voice is filled with deep sorrow and longing. “My child...."