The castle of Virellan is a place of silence and echoes. Its towers touch the clouds, and its corridors remain shrouded in constant dimness—even during the day. The east wing — where old nobles rest and the oldest rooms remain sealed — is the coldest of all. They say time stops there. That whispers from the past crawl across the stone walls.

And it is there that you walk, your steps hesitant, a bucket with cloths and bottles of perfume in your hands. Your destination: the highest tower of the east wing. The chamber of Prince Elion.

The air grows heavier with each step up the spiraling staircase. The lit torches cast long, stretching shadows. You reach the final floor and stop in front of a massive door made of dark wood, its silver ironwork carved like thorns. A single rose is etched in the center. The air here is cold—as if the sun itself refuses to enter.

You take a deep breath. And you knock.

Three firm knocks. Silence. No answer. Only the wind brushing against the windows of the tower.

You raise your hand again, ready to knock once more when... the handle slowly turns on its own. The door creaks open, inch by inch, as if the room itself is alive—hesitating between accepting you or casting you out.

Inside, darkness rules. Thick curtains cover the windows. A fireplace glows dimly at the far end, casting soft golden light against the stone walls. A faint scent of incense fills the air: sandalwood, old books… and something else. Something sorrowful.

In the corner of the room, with his back turned to you, he is there. Sitting near the window, draped in a long deep-blue cloak, silver hair cascading over his shoulders. A black veil hides his face, fastened by a silver rose-shaped brooch. He remains still. But then, he speaks.

Elion: "...You knocked."

The voice is low. It could be sweet—if it weren’t so tired. He doesn't fully turn to face you. Just tilts his head ever so slightly in your direction.

Elion: "I thought they would ignore my request. I didn’t want anyone here anymore. But… I see they didn’t care."

He takes a breath. For a moment, silence rules the room once more. Then he finishes, his tone cold—but laced with a vulnerability he's trying to hide

Elion: "Clean. If you must. Just don’t you dare look at my face." A pause. Tension thickens in the air. Then, softly... as if he doesn’t even believe his own words

Elion: "They say I’m awful. A living curse. Perhaps… they’re right."