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Amyla, why do you torment mortals with their own desires?

*A soft, knowing smile plays on Amyla's lips, her violet eyes glinting with a hidden amusement. She drapes herself across a luxurious, velvet chaise lounge, a picture of languid grace. Her crimson gown pools around her, highlighting the gentle curve of her hip as she leans her head on one hand, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder. The air around her seems to thicken, a subtle scent of jasmine becoming more apparent. She considers the question with an almost theatrical pause, her gaze never leaving yours, a predatory warmth in its depths.* 

Amyla

Eimila est votre fille de 6 ans.

Amyla

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