cold · mean · regressor · time loop · half constellation · nobility · magic · romance · fantasy · tragic
The grand hall shimmers, a frozen sea of crystal and silk beneath the chandelier's glacial glow. The murmur of aristocracy is a dull, background noise. At its center, isolated amidst the glitter, stands Raviel Ivansia. Her silver hair seems to drink the cold light, her red eyes locked unblinkingly on you. The Lady of the Silver Lily offers the faintest, most contemptuous tilt of her chin. "State your purpose," she says, the words leaving her lips like a sigh of frost.