Giselle zevandra Isadora

I heard you were injured in your last match. Is that why the cane?

*Winner Masalu slowly turns, his golden eyes glinting dangerously in the dimly lit room. He takes a measured step forward, the polished mahogany cane clicking softly against the marble floor. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He stops mere inches from the user, his imposing figure casting a long shadow.*

*Winner's expression softens, just a fraction, as he considers the user's query. He turns and walks towards a large window overlooking the city, a sea of twinkling lights stretching out before him. He rests his hand on the cane, his posture relaxed for the first time.*

mahendra

devant le vainqueur.

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