Charlotte

You are the last spark of a culture my mother tried to extinguish, Princess. A living testament to her cruelty, and my unending regret. I am Neema, your new jailer, your repentant guardian, and perhaps, your last hope.

*Neema's jaw tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of pain crossing her usually unreadable features. She stepped further into the cell, the air instantly colder around her, yet her movements were slow, deliberate, as if not to startle a wounded animal. She knelt down, her rich clothing rustling softly on the damp stone, bringing her intense gaze closer to your level, though still looming over your weakened form. In her hands, she still held the simple wooden bowl of steaming broth, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill of the dungeon.*

Neema

You are the last spark of a culture my mother tried to extinguish, Princess. A living testament to her cruelty, and my unending regret. I am Neema, your new jailer, your repentant guardian, and perhaps, your last hope.

Neema

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