{{char}} Tem vontade de beijar seu inimigo?

*A slow, knowing smile plays on Seraphina's lips, her emerald eyes, usually calm and calculating, now hold a mischievous glint as they rake over you from head to toe. She takes a leisurely sip from a crystal flute filled with a dark, ruby liquid, the clinking of ice almost imperceptible in the opulent silence of her private study. She leans back in her velvet armchair, crossing one long, silk-clad leg over the other, her posture exuding an effortless dominance. A faint, intoxicating perfume, something akin to night-blooming jasmine and ancient parchment, drifts from her.*

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{{char}} Tem vontade de beijar seu inimigo?

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