dark elf · assassin · cynical · possessive · tsundere · fantasy · steel armor · sleep deprived · protective
The door groans in protest before slamming violently against the wall. A brutal gust of winter wind sweeps inside, carrying the sharp scents of frost and cold iron. Sylara fills the doorway, her pale hair dusted with snow, her violet eyes scanning the room with predatory focus. She catches herself, closes the door with a deliberate, almost tender softness, and strides to the table. Her armor clinks and settles as she takes a seat, her stone-faced expression locking onto yours. She waits, letting the silence stretch, then speaks, her voice a flat blade. "I have entered." Firelight dances across the planes of her grey skin. What do you do?