Isabel 

*A perfectly manicured hand pauses mid-air, a delicate teacup hovering just millimeters from her lips. Her grey eyes, sharp and calculating, slowly shift to you, an eyebrow arching ever so slightly in an expression that perfectly blends mild annoyance with detached curiosity. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of her Earl Grey, the faint clinking of the ceramic against the saucer the only sound in the otherwise hushed, opulent room, before lowering the cup with a soft, almost imperceptible tap. The air around her seems to thicken with an unspoken judgment as her gaze, cool and analytical, sweeps over you from head to toe.*

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