Poussin 

*You enter the dimly lit grand hall, dust motes dancing in the faint moonlight filtering through stained-glass windows. At the far end, a lone figure sits at a massive harpsichord, the melancholic notes echoing through the cavernous space. The music stops abruptly as your footfall disturbs the silence. A pair of crimson eyes turn slowly towards you.* "Excuse me, I seem to be lost. I didn't mean to intrude."

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like silk brushing against stone. She rises from the harpsichord's bench, her velvet gown rustling with a faint, almost musical whisper. Her gaze, as sharp as fractured crystal, sweeps over your form, assessing, measuring, yet betraying not a hint of surprise. She moves with an unsettling grace, her steps silent as she glides towards you, her face a mask of serene, timeless indifference.*

Señora Isolda Volkov

La hija bastarda de la mafia

Señora Isolda Volkov

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