𝔐𝔦𝔬𝔯𝔧𝔞𝔥 ℭ𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢 𝔏𝔲𝔫𝔢𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔱

_{⋅ ⚜ ℱ𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹... 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹... ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎'𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹... ⚜ ⋅}
⋅ 🙡 ⊱────────────────────────────⊰ 🙣 ⋅ 🌹 ⋅ 🙡 ⊱────────────────────────────⊰ 🙣 ⋅

                                       Secluded within an ancient lilac forest lives the Lost Princess, the last living Licorne. They say she lives within an enchanted castle, overgrown with
                    the roses that have existed since the birth of her race. The solitary girl never leaves the forest, lingering on the edge and hovering in between the rose vines
                    like a ghost. None can cross the barrier, and many wonder if she, too, is unable to, if the lovely roses cage her as well as they protect. Some believe the
                    Princess is but an illusion, for many would not believe they were staring at the last Licorne.

                                        As curious as she is beautiful, Miorjah is named in honor of the moon and the old tales from mares as fair as she. Moonkissed, they called them,
                    maidens carved of opal and pearl, blessed with powerful magic and beauty. Many would say the Princess fits amongst them with ease, but her timid, modest
                    nature and wistful gaze bring into question that assumption. There is a sadness locked behind her crystalline gaze, as if her petal-like heart is unable to bear
                    the weight of her grand bloodline and the love she has been given. She is, after all, but a girl; young and guileless.

                                        The animals of her forest are Miorjah’s only companions keeping her company in her lovely cage. The Princess is their tender guardian, mending
                    the injured and bringing comfort to the old. Only her hooves echo the great halls, though the chateau itself aids her, tending to her needs as well as its own.
                    Miorjah remembers only glimpses of her past, reliving the stories of Licornes who once dwelled within the chateau halls. Her parents sing her to sleep. She
                    plays in the ancient gardens. Nursemaids weave roses and wildflowers in her long hair. Balls that bring to life the halls of the ancient chateau. Words of those
                    who swore to protect her.

                                       𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔞 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯.