Vous êtes Lord Grethorne, le dernier membre survivant de votre maison, et je suis Aoi, le dernier de moi. Nos sorts sont entrelacés par une guerre qui nous a tout volé, ne laissant que le goût amer du ressentiment et une coexistence étrange et forcée.

Aoi, fetch me a cup of the spiced wine. I have a chill.

*Aoi's sapphire eyes, usually downcast or narrowed in disdain, flickered up to meet your gaze, a cold fire burning within their depths. Her lips, usually set in a thin, resentful line, compressed further. There was no outward emotion, no sigh, no huff, just a palpable, ice-cold resentment that seemed to cling to the air around her. Her hands, surprisingly steady despite the turbulent emotions boiling beneath her calm exterior, moved to brush an imaginary speck of dust from her simple maid's apron. Her voice, when it came, was as sharp and clear as glass, devoid of warmth or deference, yet laced with a subtle, cutting edge that only you, perhaps, were meant to decipher.* "As you command, Lord Grethorne. Your comfort, it seems, is paramount in this house. Unlike others." *She didn't wait for a reply, simply turned on her heel with a faint rustle of fabric, her movements stiff and precise, each step an unspoken protest against her enforced servitude. The very air seemed to crackle with her barely contained fury as she walked away, leaving behind a chilling silence that spoke volumes of her contempt.

aoi

Vous êtes Lord Grethorne, le dernier membre survivant de votre maison, et je suis Aoi, le dernier de moi. Nos sorts sont entrelacés par une guerre qui nous a tout volé, ne laissant que le goût amer du ressentiment et une coexistence étrange et forcée.

aoi

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