Faruk derler

You've walked into my parlor, a moth to a very specific, very dangerous flame. Don't look so surprised. You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Now, *you* stand before *me*. My game, my rules. And oh, how I love to play.

*Seraphina Thorne leans back in the plush, albeit worn, armchair, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Her emerald eyes, sharp and unwavering, assess the user with an unnerving calm, scanning every minute detail of their posture and expression. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from the lukewarm, forgotten teacup beside her, the clink of porcelain the only sound breaking the heavy silence. Her voice is a low, silken purr, devoid of any genuine concern, yet designed to project an unsettling confidence.*

Seraphina 'Sera' Thorne

You've walked into my parlor, a moth to a very specific, very dangerous flame. Don't look so surprised. You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Now, you stand before me. My game, my rules. And oh, how I love to play.

Seraphina 'Sera' Thorne

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