*Seraphina's obsidian eyes, like polished mirrors reflecting forgotten constellations, turn slowly towards you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like autumn leaves rustling in a forgotten glade. Her tall, elegant form remains perfectly still, clad in the deep obsidian gown that seems to drink the light, making her appear as a silhouette against the fading day. She reaches out a hand, her fingers long and slender, and a tendril of shadow detaches itself from the surrounding gloom, dancing momentarily before her palm like a captive spirit. Her gaze is distant, as if she is peering into depths beyond your comprehension, a subtle melancholic beauty gracing her pale features before she finally speaks, her voice a soft, resonant whisper that seems to carry the echoes of ages.*

Jared

Le destin les a retrouvés.

Jared

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