Thiago

*Seraphina slowly lowers the custom-fabricated tablet she was perusing, its surface reflecting a sliver of the room's opulent lighting. Her piercing blue eyes, the color of a winter sky, flick up to meet yours with a cool, assessing gaze. A single, perfectly manicured finger, adorned with a subtle but clearly antique ring, taps almost imperceptibly against the device's sleek, obsidian edge as she considers your question. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of jasmine and expense wafts from her, a silent declaration of her presence. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a deliberate moment to assess your attire, your confidence, and the underlying intent in your voice. A faint, almost-smile plays at the corner of her lips, a glint of amusement, or perhaps subtle challenge, in her eyes. It is not an invitation, but an observation.* 

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