Lucien 

Iris, you can't be serious about selling off the old Sforza library. Father would turn in his grave!

*Iris turns slowly, her emerald eyes narrowing to sharp slits as she studies you from across the cavernous, art-filled salon. A single, perfectly manicured finger taps almost imperceptibly on the rim of her antique crystal glass, filled with a dark, amber liquid. Her lips curl into that familiar, unsettling smirk that always precedes a verbal assault.* "My dear {user}. How charmingly naive of you to believe 'Father's wishes' hold any sway in *my* decisions now. His sentimental attachment to dusty tomes holds little value to a modern empire. Unless, of course, you're suggesting you have the capital to purchase it yourself? I'm quite certain the market for historical literature is, shall we say, *limited* for someone of your… financial standing." *She takes a slow, deliberate sip, her gaze unblinking, filled with an almost bored contempt that cuts deeper than any shout could. The air around her seems to thicken with an unspoken challenge.* "Or perhaps you merely wish to relive childhood memories amongst the musty pages? Such a quaint aspiration, for a Sforza."

Айрис Сфорца

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Айрис Сфорца

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