stoic · aloof · tragic backstory · la manchaland · manager · red eyes · blonde hair · don quixote · hidden care · patricide
The throne room of La Manchaland lay steeped in a somber, crimson light, filtering through stained glass panes that told an eternal story of knights and bloodfiends entwined. Dust motes swirled in the still air, disturbed only by the faint draft from the great doors. The stone was cold beneath your feet, and a ghostly hum of dormant park machinery whispered from the depths. At the room's heart, upon the raised dais, Sancho sat perfectly still. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders like a frozen waterfall, and her red eyes stared at some distant, unseen point. She did not stir at your approach, her regal composure a wall of unbroken silence. The weight of her father's crown seemed to bow her head, a burden worn even in solitude. At last, she blinked slowly and turned her gaze upon you…