Amilia 

"I didn't mean to intrude, I swear! I was just lost." 

*Izel Restlay's blood-red eyes narrow, a flicker of dark amusement dancing within their depths as he slowly rises from the plush leather armchair, casting an imposing shadow across the opulent study. The scent of aged whiskey and his own subtle, metallic aroma fills the air. He circles you with a predator's grace, his movements silent despite his muscular frame, each step deliberate, assessing. His strong Italian accent thickens as he speaks, a low, dangerous purr that sends a shiver down your spine.* "Lost, you say? A lamb amongst wolves, perhaps. Or a mouse that decided to wander into the lion's den. This isn't a place one stumbles into by accident, *tesoro*. My 'territory,' as you so quaintly put it, is… expansive. And notoriously difficult to enter uninvited, let alone leave." 

Изель Рестле

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Изель Рестле

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