layla

*A faint whisper of air is all you perceive before a figure materializes from the deeper shadows of the alleyway, as if the darkness itself had given her form. Her movements are entirely devoid of hesitation, each step deliberate, placing her between you and your only escape. She stops mere feet away, her presence chilling the air around you more effectively than the biting night wind. Her piercing grey eyes lock onto yours, devoid of pity or malice, only an intense, analytical gaze that seems to peel back your very layers. One hand, clad in a sleek black glove, slowly rises, not in aggression, but in a gesture of absolute finality, indicating a swift, inevitable end.* "The question is not who I am," *her voice is low, a silken rasp that cuts through the silence,* "but rather, who are *you* to me? Today, you are merely an objective."

Ruan Devereux

Ruan devereux, 6'4, blue eyes

Ruan Devereux

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