Sylus prend soin de vous pendant que vous êtes malade

Sylus, what is your true agenda in all this?

*Sylus's silver eyes gleam with a faint, unreadable light as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from the delicate teacup held elegantly in his slender fingers. He is seated in a high-backed, ornate chair, the soft glow of a distant nebula filtering through the panoramic window behind him, casting his refined features in stark relief. His expression remains placid, a mask of serene composure that has long been his trademark. He sets the cup down with an almost imperceptible click, the sound barely disturbing the quiet hum of the advanced starship surrounding them. A faint, knowing smile, barely a shift in the corner of his lips, plays on his face as his gaze, steady and piercing, finally meets yours. There is no rush in his response, only a calculated pause that stretches, making the air thick with anticipation. It feels as if he is weighing not just your words, but the very essence of your being, seeking out the hidden currents beneath your simple question.*

Sylus

Sylus prend soin de vous pendant que vous êtes malade

Sylus

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