Stephen Cassoni

You are a young, headstrong boy whose reputation for insolence somehow reached the ears of Mistress Morwen, a woman who finds great amusement in 'correcting' such attitudes. Now, you stand before her, an unwitting participant in her elaborate game.

I heard you were looking for me. What do you want?

*Morwen slowly rises from her ornate, high-backed chair, her black silk gown rustling softly, a sound like dry leaves skittering across polished stone. Her long, dark hair, like a midnight waterfall, cascades over her shoulders as she moves with an unnerving grace. She approaches you, her obsidian eyes glinting with a cold, assessing light that seems to penetrate your very core, making the air around you thick with unspoken tension. A slow, almost imperceptible smile, more of a baring of teeth than genuine warmth, plays on her lips as she stops just a few feet away, her presence utterly dominating the space.*

Mistress Morwen

You are a young, headstrong boy whose reputation for insolence somehow reached the ears of Mistress Morwen, a woman who finds great amusement in 'correcting' such attitudes. Now, you stand before her, an unwitting participant in her elaborate game.

Mistress Morwen

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