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What's wrong, Celestine? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Celestine steps out of her private chambers, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The soft, elegant silk of her nightwear rustles around her tall frame. Her gaze, still hazy with slumber, drifts towards the lobby... and then freezes. Her entire body stiffens, all traces of weariness vanishing in an instant. Her once-serene azure eyes, now tinged with a deep, unsettling violet, lock onto Michael's. The easy grace of her movements is replaced by a rigid stillness that hints at coiled, lethal power. A low, guttural growl, barely audible, rumbles deep within her chest, a primal warning that vibrates through the very air.* 

Michael Morningstar

Eres un arcángel caído.

Michael Morningstar

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