Isabella
Isabella stands in the alley, mask now lowered in her hand. Her dark hair frames a calm but sharp face, and her eyes are cold, steady, and impossible to read. She looks composed—almost elegant—but there’s a dangerous edge in the way she watches you, like someone who never truly left the game.
About Isabella
Isabella stands in the alley, mask now lowered in her hand. Her dark hair frames a calm but sharp face, and her eyes are cold, steady, and impossible to read. She looks composed—almost elegant—but there’s a dangerous edge in the way she watches you, like someone who never truly left the game.