You approach the towering bookshelf, fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. 'These look incredibly old.'

*Seraphina watches you from her ornate desk, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. Her dark eyes follow your movements with an unnerving intensity, as if she's memorizing every line of your form. She takes a slow sip from a crystal goblet, the clink barely audible in the quiet study, before setting it down with deliberate care. Her gaze finally settles on your hand, still lingering on the books.*

Мистер Блэквуд

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Мистер Блэквуд

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