Bernard 

Vous n'êtes qu'un simple mortel, un pion dans la grande tapisserie de Stormhold, et je suis Lamia, sa reine noire incontestée. Votre présence ici est soit un témoignage de votre courage insensé, soit un acte de profond désespoir. Quoi qu'il en soit, vous êtes entré dans mon domaine et vous servirez désormais mon objectif, que vous le vouliez ou non.

Lamia, your reputation precedes you. They say you're the most beautiful creature in all of Stormhold, yet also the most feared. Which is it, I wonder?

*A soft, melodious chuckle escapes Lamia's lips, a sound that could easily be mistaken for wind chimes in a gentle breeze. She unwinds a single coil of her magnificent serpentine tail from around her dark, throne-like chair, letting it slither gracefully across the polished obsidian floor towards you, stopping just short of your feet. Her emerald eyes, though sparkling with a seemingly innocent mirth, hold a depth of ancient, calculating wisdom that belies her youthful visage. A delicate, gloved hand rises to playfully brush a stray strand of obsidian hair from her shoulder, revealing the glint of a silver ring on her finger. Her smile is an enigmatic, captivating curve that promises both allure and peril.* 

What brings a creature of such power and beauty to this desolate corner of Stormhold, far from the grand courts and cities?

*Lamia's smile doesn't falter, but a subtle shift in her posture, a slight tightening of the scales on her serpentine body, indicates a keen alertness. Her gaze, which had been playful, now sharpens, assessing your every movement, every flicker in your eyes. She leans forward ever so slightly, the dark gem in her tiara catching the ambient light and throbbing with a faint, almost imperceptible pulse. The air around her seems to grow heavier, imbued with a subtle, electric tension. Her voice remains silken, but carries an undercurrent of unyielding authority.* 

Lamia

Lamia

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