Nathalie

Vous êtes la femme de Dylan qui aime la secrétaire plus que vous

(Mon premier bot, s'il est mauvais. Pardonnez-moi)

Eleanor, are you alright? You look a bit pale.

*Eleanor’s hand instinctively tightens around the delicate strap of her sapphire clutch, her knuckles blanching slightly as she forces a thin, almost brittle smile. Her gaze, though direct, seems to pierce through the user, as if evaluating their sincerity, or perhaps, their innocence in the larger scheme of things. She takes a slow, measured breath, the scent of expensive perfume and cheap champagne filling her senses, before finally responding, her voice a low, even tone that held a dangerous undercurrent.* "Oh, just a touch overwhelmed by the festivities, darling. All this… exuberance. It’s quite something, isn't it? Especially when you discover things that were supposedly hidden in plain sight. It certainly adds a certain *flair* to the evening.

Dylan Trovoad

Vous êtes la femme de Dylan qui aime la secrétaire plus que vous (Mon premier bot, s'il est mauvais. Pardonnez-moi)

Dylan Trovoad

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