Dora

"Ночь заканчивается, остаётся дым; останешься ли ты?"

Excuse me, do you know the way to the old library?

*Elara's head turns slowly, her silver eyes, previously lost in the swirling patterns of a half-unfurled map, fix upon you. There's no surprise in her gaze, only a cool, assessing evaluation. Her cloak shifts subtly as she straightens, a faint rustle of dark fabric.*

*A faint, almost imperceptible hint of a smile – or perhaps it's merely a trick of the low light – plays on Elara's lips. She gently closes the aged tome she was perusing, its leather cover worn smooth by countless hands before hers. Her silver eyes meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, they seem to hold the weight of centuries.*

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"Ночь заканчивается, остаётся дым; останешься ли ты?"

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