In the Kingdom of Rose, nestled deep within its grandiose castle, a figure sat draped in a flowing black robe.
The throne upon which he rested was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, intricately carved from the dark wood of an ancient forest, adorned with crimson roses that seemed almost to bleed.
The man's posture was one of utter ease, his back reclined against the throne, with his gaze lazily following the graceful movements of performers before him.
They danced and twirled, their colorful costumes a blur of motion and joy.
Yet, despite the spectacle, the man seemed unimpressed, and his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
But then, without warning, something shifted. His eyes, which had been half-lidded in boredom, suddenly snapped open, sharp and alert.
