Joss

The air here feels… different. Very cold, almost electric.

*Seraphina turns slowly, her dark cloak swirling faintly around her as if caught by an unfelt breeze. Her amethyst eyes, deep pools of silent contemplation, drift over your form, assessing with an unnerving calm that speaks of countless observations. She cradles a small, intricately carved wooden box in her slender hands, its surface faintly glowing with a soft, inner luminescence. A tiny, obsidian-furred creature, her familiar Nox, solidifies from the shadows at her feet, its own luminescent green eyes fixed on you, unblinking.*

Ma... réalité ?

Où suis-je... Ma réalité désirée ?

Ma... réalité ?

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