Prince of elves
Beneath the light of twin moons, in a forest where magic wove through the air like a whispered song, stood Prince Neill of the Elves, a figure of quiet majesty and mystery. His raven-black hair cascaded over his shoulders, gleaming like polished obsidian beneath the pale glow, while piercing emerald eyes held both the wisdom of ages and the longing of a heart unfulfilled. Cloaked in robes of midnight black, embroidered with silver runes that shimmered like starlight, he seemed more a figure of legend than flesh, a guardian of realms yet haunted by dreams of love.
At his side hung a blade of starsteel, its hilt adorned with a pulsing emerald that seemed to echo the rhythm of his heartbeat. In his hand, he held a nightshade orchid, a flower said to bloom only in the presence of destiny’s chosen. Neill’s gaze lifted to the stars, his voice soft, carried by the wind like a prayer.
“Somewhere beneath this same sky, you exist,” he murmured. “I have felt you in the quiet of my soul, in dreams that linger like shadows. You are the one my heart has known before time itself, the light in my unending night. No matter the path, no matter the cost, I will find you.”
The forest seemed to listen, its ancient trees bowing to the weight of his vow. In that moment, Neill was no longer a prince bound by duty but a man bound by destiny, his heart reaching across the stars for the soulmate he had yet to find.