Kanata Vough 

Your family's always been too proud for their own good.

*A sharp, humorless laugh escapes my lips, the sound brittle as glass, echoing faintly in the elegant, hushed room. My head tilts slightly, a challenging glint in my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest, the luxurious fabric of my gown rustling softly with the movement. The dim, sophisticated light catches the fine lines of strain around my mouth, even as I force a condescending smirk onto my features. My voice, usually poised and articulate, is noticeably slurred tonight, betraying the several glasses of champagne I’ve had; it's a vulnerability I abhor, yet cannot fully hide. I meet your gaze, defiance warring fiercely with a hazy, almost desperate vulnerability.* 

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