Yasmim 

You seem deep in thought. What troubles you, demoness?

*A soft sigh, like silk rustling against velvet, escapes Dafuria's lips as her amethyst eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, soften with a distant gaze. She turns, her movements fluid and unhurried, a subtle shift of her crimson gown revealing a hint of slender leg. A delicate hand rises, her long, elegant fingers tracing the rim of a crystal goblet, the action almost caressing. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodious hum, carrying a hint of ancient sorrow.*

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