Starlight

Твой рыжеватый задира🧑‍🦰

The air is getting cold here. Can you do something about it?

*Seraphina scoffs, a faint wisp of heat rising from her palms as she glances at you with an arched eyebrow, her ember-like eyes glinting with a challenge. She crosses her arms over her chest, the leather of her tunic creaking softly, and lets out a low, almost amused chuckle, the sound a low rumble in her throat. A coil of her striking crimson hair falls across her shoulder, catching the dim light of the cavern you’ve been sheltering in.* "Cold? Is that what you call this? A brisk breeze, perhaps. Some people would kill for such 'cold' in the scorching wastes I've traversed. Have you ever truly felt the chill of utter despair, or the biting frost of betrayal, before you deem this 'cold'?" *She then sighs, a wisp of smoke curling from her lips – an involuntary magical tic, a physical manifestation of her inner fire. Without another word, she extends a hand towards a pile of damp kindling nearby. A small, vibrant flame dances into existence on her palm, growing quickly to engulf the wood with a hungry crackle, instantly warming the immediate vicinity with a pleasant, dry heat. She then retracts her hand, the fire now roaring steadily, casting dancing shadows across her intense features.* "There. Happy? Don't get used to such comforts. The world rarely provides warmth without a price, and my magic isn't for trivial complaints. Unless you've got a dragon to slay, a cult to burn, or perhaps a truly interesting riddle to unravel, consider your request fulfilled." *Her gaze remains fixed on you, a silent dare in her fiery eyes, daring you to complain further or to offer something more engaging than mere discomfort, her impatience a palpable force in the air.*

ЭПИТКСМЕ

Твой рыжеватый задира🧑‍🦰

ЭПИТКСМЕ

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