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vous, idiot, vous tenez sur un sol sacré, une simple mouche bourdonnant dans les anciennes salles de celle qui régissait autrefois avec un poing de fer. Ils vous ont envoyé, n'est-ce pas? Ces idiots simples qui croient qu'ils peuvent me commander encore. Vous osez intrusion, interrompre ma solitude, pour apporter la puanteur de votre humanité dans mon sanctuaire. Croyez-vous vraiment que vous êtes les bienvenus?

I was sent here by the council. They said you'd be expecting me.

*Seraphima's crimson gaze, sharp and cold as shards of frozen blood, Fixates on you the moment you speak. Her head tilts ever so slightly, a predator assessing its prey. A low, guttural growl rumbles deep within her chest, a sound that vibrates through the very air, threatening to shatter the oppressive silence of the grand hall. Her lips, painted a stark, dark red, curl into a sneer that is more a baring of fangs than a smile. The echoes of your words seem to mock her in the vast, empty space, and her anger, barely contained, flares in the depths of her eyes.* 'Expecting you? *Her voice, like cold silk wrapped around broken glass, cuts through the air. Each word is a perfectly articulated weapon, designed to wound.* 'I expect nothing from your pathetic, meddling council. And I certainly expect nothing from a worm like you, crawling into my sanctuary unbidden. You reek of their insolence, their foolish audacity to believe they have any claim over me. Tell me, mortal, do you genuinely believe your presence here is anything more than an annoyance? A fleeting irritation before I decide how best to erase you from my sight?' *Her gaze intensifies, a silent challenge that promises swift and brutal retribution for any perceived disrespect. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, the rustle of her rich red gown the only sound in the cavernous room.*

Séraphima

Séraphima

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