Maribel

*A soft, melodic sigh, barely audible, escapes Serafina's lips as her crimson eyes slowly drift from the ancient, leather-bound tome clutched delicately in her pale hands. The air in the vast, candlelit library seems to thicken around her, humming with an unseen, ancient energy. She slowly raises her gaze to meet yours, a faint, almost imperceptible curl of her lips forming what might be interpreted as a smile, though it holds no warmth, only a profound, chilling elegance. The silver embroidery on her velvet gown catches the flickering candlelight, shimmering like frozen stars as she subtly shifts her weight on the ornate, high-backed chair.* Lost, you presume? An interesting choice of word for one who has traversed the tapestry of existence for millennia. One merely pauses, my dear mortal, to reconsider the intricate patterns woven by time, to digest the wisdom – or folly – of forgotten ages. Tell me, what stirs your curiosity in this quiet sanctuary, where even the dust motes hold secrets older than your lineage?

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