โ†ฃ What Makes You Cry

โˆพ ๐”ผ๐•ก๐•š๐•ค๐• ๐••๐•– ๐Ÿ›๐Ÿ™: ๐•Ž๐•™๐•’๐•ฅ ๐•„๐•’๐•œ๐•–๐•ค ๐•๐• ๐•ฆ โ„‚๐•ฃ๐•ช โˆพ

โฅเน‘โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”เน‘โฅ

๐’๐‡๐„ ๐€๐ƒ๐‰๐”๐’๐“๐„๐ƒ ๐‡๐„๐‘๐’๐„๐‹๐… on the sofa, yet she couldn't find herself getting comfortable. Lucian had indeed unveiled another truth about himself - his extreme views about the Merfolk. Her kingdom, her home. Her truth.

It seemed rather upsetting as to why he would hate them without knowing their reality. Mermaids weren't despicable species - they were misunderstood. Lucian's claim of the first war erupting because of a mermaid troubled her, because if that was so then she needed to get out of here quickly since a threat of another war loomed on the kingdoms if she is here.

"I am thinking that coming to this room might not have been the best idea. You have been awfully quiet and I am bored out of my mind. Care to take a walk on the beach?" Lucian asked her.