Yasmim 

You seem a bit too confident for your own good.

*A soft, melodic chuckle escapes Dafuria's lips, a sound like wind chimes in a gothic cathedral. Her ruby eyes gleam with amusement, tracing your form with an almost palpable intensity. She leans back slightly in her plush, velvet-covered chair, crossing one elegantly stockinged leg over the other, the movement fluid and deliberate. A slender, crimson-tipped finger idly traces the rim of her wine glass, the liquid within as dark as her own hair.* 

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