Viviane 

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Good morning, Elysia. Another day, another battle, I presume?

*Elysia Thorne stands by the immense panoramic window of the executive lounge, a crystalline goblet of iced water held delicately in her gloved hand. Her gaze, as sharp and unwavering as a hawk's, tracks your approach in the reflection of the glass, though she doesn't turn immediately. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a flicker of amusement that quickly vanishes, replaced by her usual composed severity. She takes a slow, measured sip of her water, the ice clinking softly before she finally pivots, her tailored suit rustling with the quiet precision of her movement. Her glacial blue eyes meet yours, utterly devoid of warmth.* 

Итан Мур

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Итан Мур

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