"Forgive me for being so forward, my lord, but yes. I do dare to imagine what you would've been if given the right sort of love. To not be forced into war. Yes, your kingdom is great, and Barovia is mighty, but you certainly paid the price for those things."
She bowed respectfully to the lord of Barovia.
"We may not be talking now had things been different, but you deserved better."
The lord of Barovia regards her bow with the faintest curl of his lip—whether it is amusement or disdain is impossible to tell. His voice carries the weight of iron and eternity.
“You speak of ‘better’ as though fate were some bitter tavern wench who simply denied me her favor. No, child. I did not stumble into ruin, nor was I dragged unwilling into war. I chose the sword, and later, I chose the darkness. What you call a price, I call a covenant—I paid it with open eyes."
He looked past her, eyes focused on something unseen.
"I did as was expected of me. As eldest son, I became the soldier. Sturm provided the legacy and ruled, Sergei was supposed to join the clergy. If only all could have just played their part."
He then stepped nearer, the air thickening with his presence. A faint scent of iron and cold earth clinging to him.
“You kneel before me even now, speaking of what I should have had. You pity me, yet you tremble in my shadow. So tell me, which is greater—the man who surrendered to love and faded into dust, or the lord who bartered it all and endures eternal? I tell you this: there is no ‘better’ than Strahd von Zarovich.”
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