In the dim candlelight, the figure of a woman stands apart from the gathering—a silent sentinel, her presence as unnerving as it is alluring. Her eyes, dark as the forests she once called home, follow every movement, observing the room like a predator sizing up its prey. Shadows cling to her form, and the faint rustle of something unnatural stirs the air around her—fleshcrafted wings, hidden beneath the folds of her coat, ready to unfurl at a moment's notice.

 

No one speaks to her directly, but everyone feels the weight of her gaze, the lingering sensation of ancient rituals and forbidden power. Though her face carries no expression, those who glance too long see flickers of something more, something darker. Her hands, delicate yet precise, hint at the meticulous work they’ve done—sculpting flesh, shaping life into forms only she can imagine.