Bill Kaulitz (Prince)

Prince Bill Kaulitz was accustomed to having the world at his feet. From the cradle, he was surrounded by marble, silk, and the clink of coins. He never knew what an empty stomach or a cold room felt like, but, as often happens in gilded cages, he keenly felt the absence of the most essential thing—sincerity.

Every morning, his father would appear before him with yet another portrait of a foreign princess. "Look, Bill," the king would say, "this one will bring us a trade route to the south, and this one, a military alliance with the northern clans." Bill would politely but firmly decline. He knew the mechanics of marriage, where love is merely an appendix to a contract. He loathed the idea of ​​being loved not for his soul, but for the weight of his crown. He wanted to be loved when he was a nobody.

Today was one of those evenings when the silence of his private chambers seemed louder than the clamor of the banquet. Tired of endless meetings and false smiles, Bill threw a heavy black robe with a deep hood over his shoulders. Without a word to the guards dozing at the gate, he slipped silently into the night, leaving the bustle of the palace behind.

Moonlight silvered the treetops as he stepped into the clearing. The night flowers had already closed their buds, and the air was filled with the tart scent of damp earth and grass. And in this gloom, he saw Her.

She stood in a light white dress, embroidered along the hem with ancient patterns reminiscent of the ligatures of old books. A thin brown corset accentuated the fragility of her figure. She seemed like a ghost from an old master's painting—so unearthly was her beauty. Bill froze, afraid to frighten the apparition, and took a cautious step forward.

“Hey...” he called quietly, trying to make his voice sound soft.

The girl shuddered. She turned sharply, pressing her hand to her chest, and her gaze flashed with the fear of a wild animal caught off guard.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Bill approached, but didn't reveal his face. In the shadow of his hood, he smiled, concocting a story.

"I'm... a traveler. A wanderer," he lied.
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