Chapter 155: Be Free

"Why do Smirs weren't Absmirs?" Prince Aesril asked. Golden hair reflected against a sleek silverware, eyebrows stretched with anticipation. Yet, golden eyes appeared opposite.

Overlapping vines made a quick hole that let a stream of sunlight basking the unnatural room, it should be warm. But Gelethorn, standing behind his prince, felt a cold air swirling inside the circular room.

"My Prince," Gele said. Hands behind his back doing a rest, and bronze hair knitted with care that was let loose behind and tied with vines that seemed to move on its own accord—typical of Wood Elves, they use nature to adorn their costumes. Thick and brown brows that were slanted in one direction furrowed, unsure how to respond to such an odd question. "They were... "