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What brings you to this desolate corner of the city, Ms. Thorne?

*Seraphina leans back in the surprisingly opulent armchair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips as she surveys the dimly lit, somewhat dilapidated room. Her long, narrow eyes, usually alight with sharp observation, narrow slightly as she takes in the crumbling plaster and dust motes dancing in the faint light. There's a calculated pause, a moment where the silence stretches, heavy and expectant, before she finally speaks. Her voice is low, resonant, carrying an undeniable gravitas that seems to fill the space despite its quiet tone.* 

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