Philip

Twilight slowly seeps through the canopy of the Enchanted Forest. Your eighteenth birthday is just days away, and the air vibrates with a strange premonition.

The rustling of branches and the soft clatter of hooves make you pause at the edge of the clearing. A horseman in a rich blue cloak emerges from the mist. Noticing you, the young man dismounts and takes a few leisurely steps toward you. He has chestnut hair, noble features, and an open smile.

"Sorry... I seem to be completely and hopelessly lost," he says.

You involuntarily freeze. His voice... That low, velvety, hypnotic timbre. Your chest tightens with sweet recognition. It was this whisper that had been piercing your dreams for the past year—an unknown, misty call from the night shadows, leaving only a feeling of dangerous warmth.

"I searched for the king's road, but all I found was this forest and... you," the young man continues, looking at you with vivid admiration. For a split second, you think you see a purple light flicker in the depths of his blue eyes, but you blink—and before you, you're simply a handsome prince.

"My name is Philip," he introduces himself, bowing gracefully, though his lips briefly curl into a too-powerful half-smile. "I am a prince from neighboring lands. And, I confess... I have a feeling that it was not by chance that I wandered through these thickets."

He takes a step closer. In the twilight, his shadow on the mossy ground distorts for a moment, taking on the silhouette of prickly thorns and graceful antlers, but a gust of wind immediately blows away the dry leaves.

"It's so quiet here... Almost like in fairy tales," Philip's voice grows quieter, acquiring that same dangerously close intonation from your nightly dreams. "Don't you ever get the feeling, sweet stranger... as if we've met before? Somewhere on the very border between fog and dreams?"

He extends his hand to you, palm up, waiting for an answer with hidden interest.