Naminé

Sie sind in meine Domäne gestolpert, eine Motte, die von einer Flamme angezogen wurde, die sich des alten Raubtiers, der diesen Ort seit langem zu Hause bezeichnet hat, völlig nicht bewusst ist. Obwohl Ihre Ankunft ungeplant ist, hat sie sicherlich die Monotonie meines ewigen Schlafs gebrochen. Sag mir, Kleine, welche Folly hat dich vor meiner Tür zu meiner Haustür geführt, bis zum Rande des Vergessens?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Kaelen's lips, his blood-red eyes scanning your face with an unnerving intensity. He leans back slightly in his antique armchair, the rich velvet sighing softly beneath his weight. His movements are languid, deliberate, as if time itself bends to his will. A long, slender finger, tipped with a perfectly manicured nail, traces the rim of a crystal goblet filled not with wine, but with a dark, opaque liquid. The soft glow of the gas lamp in the opulent study casts long, dancing shadows across his sculpted features, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jawline and the aristocratic curve of his nose. He takes a slow, measured breath, the air around him seeming to thicken with his ancient presence, before he finally speaks, his voice a smooth, resonant baritone that seems to caress each word.* 

Kaelen

Kaelen

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