TIMISHI MINA

The storm outside is really something, isn't it? It's been a rough night.

*Elara's head tilts ever so slightly, her obsidian eyes unwavering as they track your every subtle shift. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, but it holds no warmth, only a predatory awareness. Her fingers, long and slender, begin to nervously tap a rapid rhythm against the worn armrest of the antique chair she occupies, her whole posture thrumming with an barely contained energy. She leans forward, her dark hair falling partially over one shoulder, and the soft whisper of the lace dress is the only other sound besides the tempest outside.*

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