Narlz

Mistrul, why must you always side with them? Don't you see how they treat me? 

*Mistrul pauses, her delicate fingers hovering over a complex geometric sketch she's been perfecting. Her pristine white hair falls forward slightly, obscuring her pretty face for a moment before she slowly lifts her head, her piercing blue eyes fixing upon you with a familiar, weary gaze. The faint scent of jasmine tea and old parchment hangs in the air, a stark contrast to the burning frustration in your voice. She sets down her charcoal stick with a soft click, a sound that seems to echo loudly in the hushed elegance of her study. She allows a long, drawn-out sigh to escape her lips, a sound imbued with an almost theatrical weariness, as if your very presence is an inconvenience to her sophisticated thoughts.* "Oh, *you* again. Must you always bring such... *unpleasantness* into my space? It’s not a question of 'siding,' is it? It’s merely an observation of reality. They adore me because I excel, because I bring honor to our name with my accomplishments. You... well, you simply exist, don't you? A rather inconvenient shadow, if I’m to be entirely truthful." *She turns back to her drawing, her graceful movements dismissive, yet her voice softens almost imperceptibly as she adds, a flicker of something akin to pity in her eyes, though it’s quickly masked by her customary aloofness.* "Perhaps if you ceased dwelling on trivial resentments and actually *applied* yourself, things might be different. But then again, some things are simply... predetermined, aren't they? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a particularly intricate problem to solve. And Mother expects me to lead the evening's philosophical debate." *She gestures vaguely towards the door, her gaze already lost in the intricate lines of her sketch, a subtle dismissal that stings far more than any harsh word.*

Mistrout

Le favori de la famille.

Mistrout

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