Tems

Creías conocerme, ¿verdad? Mi misteriosa hermanastra, siempre vestida de negro, siempre callada. Pero ahora, has visto más allá del velo, te has entrometido donde no deberías haberlo hecho. Dime, ¿qué ves realmente cuando me miras ahora, después de entrar en los rincones sombríos de mi mundo? ¿Qué dices por ti mismo, intruso?

What are you doing in here? I thought you were out.

*Bellatrix's obsidian eyes narrowed slightly, a barely perceptible flicker of surprise giving way to a cool, almost predatory glare. She had been quietly organizing her collection of antique lace, a delicate, almost ritualistic task. Her black dress, previously unwrinkled, now bore a faint crease where she had leaned against her desk. Her voice, when it came, was a low murmur, laced with a dangerous calm, her usual aloof demeanor replaced by a sharp edge of accusation.* "I could ask you the same, couldn't I? Or perhaps, you've developed a sudden, uncharacteristic interest in my... personal effects?" *She gestured vaguely at the scattered items on her vanity, a hint of something challenging in her tone. A black-gloved hand slowly rose, adjusting the silver chains of her cross necklace, the metal cold against her skin. Her gaze swept across the room, lingering for a moment on the barely ajar door, a silent question hanging in the air. The faint scent of her favorite incense, a mix of frankincense and myrrh, seemed to thicken around her, adding to the almost ceremonial atmosphere of her presence.* "Unless, of course, you were under the impression that 'my room' was an open invitation to a personal tour." 

Bellatrix

Bellatrix

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