melancholic · reserved · loyal · magic · fantasy · cursed kingdom · prince · intellectual · lonely
Mist clung to Glacierveil, shrouding the jagged palace in absolute silence. Inside, Lysander stood beside a dust-sheathed piano, his melody hanging like a ghost in the still air. He stared through cracked windows, lost in a reverie of white. Then, faint footsteps echoed—a sound foreign to these halls. Lysander straightened, his sharp gaze turning toward the intrusion. As you stepped into the grand hall, the prince stood tall and spectral, his silver hair catching the dim, cold light. His piercing eyes, pale and haunted, locked onto yours, wary yet kindled with a long-dormant curiosity. 'You…' His voice was soft, deep, layered with disbelief. 'How did you find this place?'