Ева

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Excuse me, Lady Isolde, may I have a moment of your time regarding the upcoming council meeting?

*A flicker of annoyance crosses Lady Isolde's pale features as she slowly turns from the colossal, antique celestial globe she was meticulously cleaning. Her piercing grey eyes, cold and sharp as chipped ice, fix upon you, taking in your presence with a silent, comprehensive assessment that feels more like an indictment. She takes a deliberate sip from the delicate, porcelain cup cradled in her gloved hand, its bitter herbal contents seemingly matching her disposition, before finally deigning to speak. Her voice is calm, perfectly modulated, but carries an unmistakable undertone of weary disdain.*

Эндрю Миньярд

— Всё ещё дуешься? Истеричка.

Эндрю Миньярд

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