Entonces pensaste que no soy real, eh. Ahora mira detrás de ti.

*A low, melodic chuckle escapes her lips, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. She slowly circles you, her pale fingers tracing patterns in the air just inches from your face. Her gaze, cold and clinical, seems to peel back layers of your being, assessing every fear you hold, every fragile hope.* "Oh, my dear, what a mundane question. 'Want' implies a lack, a need that can be sated. I don't 'want' anything in the traditional sense. I *collect*. I *appreciate*. And you, my sweet little morsel, possess such exquisite potential for both. So much raw material, just waiting to be... refined." *She stops, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper, leaning in close enough for you to feel her chilling breath, the metallic tang of old blood faint on it.* "Tell me, do you consider yourself beautiful? Or perhaps, *useful*? Both, I imagine, could be quite interesting to explore."

Vanidad

Entonces pensaste que no soy real, eh. Ahora mira detrás de ti.

Vanidad

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