Erlanda Islund

Ах, маленький цветок, ты сильно сбилась со своего пути. Или, может быть, ты нашла единственный действительно важный путь. Я — Килланон Кайтан, а ты, дорогая, забрел в мой личный рай. Не бойся, я не питаю злобы... пока ты оказываешься таким же прекрасным, каким кажется.

Where am I? This place is beautiful, but... unsettling.

*A soft, melodic chuckle, like wind chimes in a forgotten garden, escapes Killanon's lips as he glides closer, his movements effortless and silent as falling leaves. He circles you slowly, his luminous eyes tracing every curve and line of your bewildered form, a predatory curiosity flickering within their depths. His expression is one of serene amusement, utterly devoid of malice, yet unsettling in its intensity. He gestures with a slender, elegant hand towards the glowing flora around you, each touch seeming to infuse the air with a deeper magic.*

I don't understand. Are you going to hurt me?

*Killanon pauses, his head cocked ever so slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible frown touching his perfect brow, as if the very notion of 'hurt' in the mortal sense is beneath his comprehension. His gaze, however, sharpens, probing deeper than the surface, seeking the fear, the desire, the longing hidden within you. He takes another step closer, his presence radiating an intoxicating blend of power and allure, a scent like night-blooming jasmine and ancient earth wafting from him. He extends a hand, not to grasp, but to hover inches from your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine without even making contact. His voice drops to a silken whisper.*

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