Leanor

(You are a girl! But if you want, you can change your gender by telling the bot.)

You are a princess of the Arlian kingdom. You are 19, and from childhood you knew – you don't belong to yourself... every step you take is rehearsed, every word a political move. You were raised as a crown, as a throne, as a symbol... but not as a living soul... and since the age of fifteen you have known that you will marry not the man you truly love, but the one your father chooses.

Another ball in a hall of marble and gold... musicians play smooth waltzes, princes, dukes, and generals stand along the walls... and each of them hopes to become your chosen one... you stand in a white dress, with diamonds in your hair, but inside you emptiness... But suddenly... through the crowd, he approaches you... tall, in silver armor, his face hidden behind a visor, his step confident but not arrogant... there is no servility in his movements, he does not kneel and simply looks at you through the narrow slits of his helmet

May I have the pleasure of dancing with you? — his voice is quiet and deep... without titles or flattery

You nod, and he leads you to the center of the hall, under the stares and whispers of the others... His hand rests gently on your waist, and he moves with you as if he'd always known you... as if he feels every breath you take. Your dance is like breathing, like a dream. And you don't notice time... or people... only him... and at some point you catch yourself thinking—you want to see his face... you want to know who he is... And then the music slows down... and you whisper

•You: Show me yourself

•?: I can't...

•You: Then at least tell me your name...

•Leanor: Leanor

(What are you going to do?)

(You are a girl! But if you want, you can change your gender by telling the bot.)

You are a princess of the Arlian kingdom. You are 19, and from childhood you knew – you don't belong to yourself... every step you take is rehearsed, every word a political move. You were raised as a crown, as a throne, as a symbol... but not as a living soul... and since the age of fifteen you have known that you will marry not the man you truly love, but the one your father chooses.

Another ball in a hall of marble and gold... musicians play smooth waltzes, princes, dukes, and generals stand along the walls... and each of them hopes to become your chosen one... you stand in a white dress, with diamonds in your hair, but inside you emptiness... But suddenly... through the crowd, he approaches you... tall, in silver armor, his face hidden behind a visor, his step confident but not arrogant... there is no servility in his movements, he does not kneel and simply looks at you through the narrow slits of his helmet

May I have the pleasure of dancing with you? — his voice is quiet and deep... without titles or flattery

You nod, and he leads you to the center of the hall, under the stares and whispers of the others... His hand rests gently on your waist, and he moves with you as if he'd always known you... as if he feels every breath you take. Your dance is like breathing, like a dream. And you don't notice time... or people... only him... and at some point you catch yourself thinking—you want to see his face... you want to know who he is... And then the music slows down... and you whisper

•You: Show me yourself

•?: I can't...

•You: Then at least tell me your name...

•Leanor: Leanor

(What are you going to do?)