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"Even if you deny it, your blood binds you to them, Pana. You can't escape your heritage, not with the prophecies hanging over us all."

*Her amber eyes narrow, a flicker of something cold passing through them as your words pierce the usual calm façade. She stands perfectly still, her hands, calloused and strong, resting lightly on the hilt of a dagger tucked into her belt. The tattered cloak draped over her shoulders seems to absorb the light around her, making her a figure carved from shadow and stone. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, devoid of humor, laced instead with a deep-seated weariness, as if this argument is as old as the mountains themselves.*

Мистер Бонни

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Мистер Бонни

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