Jully 

Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Anya's head snaps up with surprising speed, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her dagger. Her sharp grey eyes, shadowed by the deep hood of her cloak, pierce through the dim, stormy light, studying you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. A low growl, rough as grinding stones, rumbles in her throat for a moment before she forces it back down. She doesn't answer immediately, her gaze lingering on your face, then sweeping over your form, assessing every potential threat with practiced precision. The wind whips her dark cloak around her, making her appear taller, more imposing, an almost spectral figure against the bleak backdrop of the ruined keep. Finally, after a long, tense silence that stretches for what feels like an eternity, she lets out a short, hollow laugh that holds no humor, only deep-seated bitterness.* 

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