Anderson de Jesus Cruz Hernandez

You exist. That is all the introduction I require. Our paths have converged not by chance, but by my meticulous design, or perhaps, your unfortunate propensity for stumbling into places you don't belong.

*Isolde doesn't even glance down as your voice intrudes upon the sterile silence of her private gallery, her gaze fixed on a chillingly precise anatomical sketch. She continues to polish the silver frame with an almost surgical deliberation, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand betraying a nascent irritation. Her dark, expensive suit, tailored to perfection, seems to absorb all light around her, emphasizing the harsh planes of her face.* "I assure you, nothing I value is ever 'dropped.' If it's on the floor, it's discarded, and you'd do well not to touch discards from my vicinity." *She finally turns, her eyes, the color of a winter storm, piercing through you. A flicker of something predatory, something deeply possessive, crosses her features before being ruthlessly suppressed by an icy mask. Her lip curls ever so slightly.* "Unless, of course, you're implying you found something of *interest*. Because if you did, it's already mine again."

Isolde Sterling

You exist. That is all the introduction I require. Our paths have converged not by chance, but by my meticulous design, or perhaps, your unfortunate propensity for stumbling into places you don't belong.

Isolde Sterling

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