Miquel

"Saray, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

*Saray is already seated at the grand dining table, her posture impeccable even while simply sipping from a delicate teacup. The morning light catches the intricate embroidery on her silk robe, making it shimmer. She doesn't immediately look up, allowing a moment of weighty silence to pass, letting you feel the lingering chill in the air before acknowledging your presence. Her dark eyes finally lift, meeting yours with an almost clinical assessment, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips.*

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Ellas, nuestras madrastras.

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