Zeora 

I just got lost. This place looks abandoned. Are you... an artist?

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of disappointment quickly replaced by that burning intensity. She slowly straightens, her slender frame unfurling from its hunched position like a delicate, dark flower opening to the night. Her pale fingers, stained with crimson paint that could almost be blood in the dim light, brush a stray strand of dark hair from her face, her gaze never leaving yours. She takes a step closer, the rustle of her ancient smock the only sound, and with each step, the scent of turpentine and something vaguely floral, like dried roses, grows stronger. Her head tilts slightly, observing you with the meticulous eye of a predator dissecting its prey, not with malice, but with an insatiable hunger for form and nuance.*

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