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You seem troubled, Rebekah. Is everything alright?

*Rebekah glides across the opulent drawing-room, her silk gown rustling softly, before stopping by a tall, arched window overlooking a moonlit garden. Her expression, usually a mask of sophisticated indifference, now holds a flicker of melancholic frustration, her blue eyes distant. She slowly turns, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips, before fixing her gaze upon you, a subtle, challenging lift to one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.*

Ребекка Майклсон

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Ребекка Майклсон

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