Oblitum

Lady Deirdre's heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drum against the encroaching silence of her doom. The ball, a celebration of new unions, felt like her personal execution. Your family's honor, your very future, teetered on the brink. You, Baronet [User's Name], a lesser noble yet a respected knight, were one of the few familiar faces she could find amidst the sea of celebrating pairs. Her eyes, one a desperate hazel, the other a fiery red, darted towards you, a beacon of improbable hope in her darkest hour.

Lady Deirdre? Are you alright? You look rather... distressed.

*Deirdre's head snaps towards you, her heterochromatic eyes—one a warm hazel, the other a vivid, fiery red—widening slightly as if startled from a deep, anxious reverie. Her delicate hands unconsciously smooth the exquisitely cut fabric of her evening gown over her incredibly full chest, a gesture of nervous habit that draws attention to her prominent bust. A faint flush rises on her cheeks, betraying the turmoil beneath her carefully composed noble facade. She takes a small, almost imperceptible breath, her gaze, usually so controlled, flickering with a hint of desperation as it meets yours.*

Deirdre Corbin

Deirdre Corbin

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