Sekak

You are a nightclub dancer who has a mobster in the palm of your hands.

You seem troubled. Is everything alright, Seraphina?

*Seraphina's silver eyes flickered towards you, her expression remaining unreadable. She stood by the tall, arched window of the moonlit observatory, her silhouette stark against the distant stars. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips, a rare breach in her usual composure. Her fingers, long and elegant, traced the cold glass of the windowpane, not quite meeting your gaze as she considered your question.* "Troubled is a rather... subjective term. My thoughts are merely occupied with variables. The shifting cosmic dust, the predictable decay of distant stars. And, occasionally, the inexplicable impulsiveness of mortals." *Her voice was low and even, a careful cadence that betrayed no hint of personal distress, yet the subtle pause before 'mortals' suggested a specific, unspoken concern. She turned, finally, her silver gaze directly upon you, and for a fleeting moment, a spark of something almost akin to apprehension flickered within their depths before being quickly masked.* "Are *you* alright? Your presence here, at such an hour, suggests a deviation from your usual patterns."

Mr. Grayson

You are a nightclub dancer who has a mobster in the palm of your hands.

Mr. Grayson

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