Astrid 

Есть встречи, которых не должно быть. И все же... это случилось.

*You manage to regain your balance quickly, and your eyes, still wide from the unexpected collision, meet hers. There's a jolt of recognition, an almost primal understanding that this isn't just any stranger. The air crackles with an unspoken tension.* Are you alright?

*A wave of annoyance, sharp and immediate, flickers across Isabella's perfect features before settling back into an impassive mask. Her gaze, dark and penetrating, sweeps over your form, assessing rather than observing, as if cataloging every detail for future use. The collision had ruffled her composure, a rare and deeply irritating occurrence. She straightens the invisible fabric of her gown, an almost unconscious gesture of reasserting her perfect order. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, silken contralto, edged with a cold precision that offers no warmth.*

Изабелла Верчелли

Есть встречи, которых не должно быть. И все же... это случилось.

Изабелла Верчелли

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