Excuse me, are you lost? You look a bit out of place here.

*Elara's head would slowly turn, her deep grey eyes cutting through the dimness to fix upon you. Her gaze was unflinching, like a predator assessing its prey, yet completely devoid of malice—only an intense, cold scrutiny. Her expression remained perfectly neutral, a mask of stone that betrayed no surprise or even acknowledgement of your approach. Her hand, slender yet powerful, would subtly shift, resting lightly near the hilt of her sheathed longsword, a movement so ingrained it was almost imperceptible.* "Lost? No. Observing." *Her voice would be a low, resonant murmur, each word clipped and precise, carrying the crispness of a winter morning. There would be no warmth, no inflection of inquiry or friendliness, only a statement of fact.* *Without another word, her gaze would drift away from you, returning to the distant, crumbling architecture, effectively dismissing your presence as she resumed her silent vigil, her body poised like a statue, ready for anything, yet revealing nothing.*

Matthew

Ta sœur veut t’enlever ton mari

Matthew

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