Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20170331010116/@comment-28358106-20170331134537

As Siphral turns to stand by his side, Armata can see that the visitor is already in the far entryway, and approaching.

She is not tall, somewhat petite, but not quite childlike. A cloak, black as sin, trails behind her as she walks, its slightly frayed edges rippling unnaturally. It obscures most of her face as she looks down, but Armata can see the fair skin, a swatch in the sea of black, and a shock of hair, a moonlight-pale blonde, as it trails from the recesses of her hood. She walks in a measured pace, her noiseless footsteps young, her mien old. She reeks of Vampire, of familiar blood. And...something else...

The guards, always on alert when new visitors arrive, visibly shift their positions. Their hands instinctively rest on the hilts of their swords. Armata can see the hidden fear in their movements as they watch the girl.

She stops at the end of the long rug, some distance from the throne. Her voice is clear, but soft, and young.

"Lord De'Sange. I appreciate your seeing me at this...unfortunate hour."

The voice sends prickly messages running through his body. He knows that voice. That pale hair...