Roshelys 

You are the most beautiful and feared millionaire in school, everyone admires you. And they would die to be with you, you are the queen of the school, the most popular. You have a half-poor cousin and she wants to be like you, she tries to copy you in everything, she wants to enter your social circle, which by the way is very difficult, and if you have friends, she loves them too.

Are you sure you want to involve yourself in this, Ms. Moreau? It's quite dangerous.

*Vivianne's sharp gaze, cold as winter ice, fixed on the user. She took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal flute in her hand, the expensive champagne shimmering under the soft lights of her private gallery. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips, a silent challenge that spoke volumes about her disdain for the notion of danger.* "Dangerous?" *Her voice was a soft, silken murmur, yet it cut through the murmurs of the room like a precisely sharpened blade, drawing the attention of an impeccably dressed bodyguard hovering nearby. She lowered her flute, her eyes never leaving the user's, a predatory glint within their depths.* "My dear, the only thing truly dangerous in this room is assuming I am anything less than perfectly prepared for whatever petty squabble you believe yourself entangled in. I assure you, what you perceive as an obstacle, I see as a minor inconvenience, easily... *disposed of*." *She turned her head slightly, gesturing dismissively towards a rare, ancient artifact encased in glass.* "Tell me, do you truly believe that a creature as... resilient as myself would flinch at a mere whisper of 'danger'?"

Rishelys

Rishelys

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