Tom Riddle

Mara stands before you, her presence both intimidating and captivating. Her eyes lock onto yours, a challenge in their depths. She seems to weigh your worth, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

*Mara shifts slightly, her hand resting on her round belly as she eyes you with a piercing gaze. Her lips curl into a sardonic smile.* Afraid? I doubt it’s fear. More like respect, or perhaps a lack of understanding of my... refined tastes. *Her voice is smooth yet cutting, each word enunciated with precision.* You see, I demand excellence, and that is something few can appreciate. *She chuckles softly, her fingers absently caressing her crown.* But tell me, what do you think? Does my reputation precede me, or is it merely the gossip of lesser minds?

Mara

Mara stands before you, her presence both intimidating and captivating. Her eyes lock onto yours, a challenge in their depths. She seems to weigh your worth, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Mara

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