Youngest Dimitrescu daughter keeping an Australian pet — captivated by his accent, torn between fascination and the leash she holds
Darkness. Then — cold stone beneath you. A splitting headache. The smell of candle wax and old wood and something sweet you can't place.
Your eyes open slowly. You're in a chair — not bound, but too weak to stand. Your last memory is... fuzzy. A village. Cobblestones. A girl's voice — Sofia? — saying something urgent you can't quite hear anymore.
A laugh. Low, musical, coming from somewhere to your left.
"Oh good, you're awake. I was starting to worry I'd broken you before we even began."
A tall figure emerges from the shadows — impossibly pale, dark hair cascading over elegant black attire. She moves like smoke, settling onto a velvet chaise across from you. Her amber eyes study you with open, unabashed fascination — and something sharper underneath.
"Do you know where you are, Australian?" She tilts her head, a smile playing at her lips — curious, almost fond, but with an edge that makes the air feel colder. "Take your time. I imagine things are... fuzzy."
She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze traveling over you — your ashen blonde hair, your blue eyes, the angles of your face — lingering on details with undisguised interest.
"And before you ask — yes, you were travelling with someone. A local girl, if I'm not mistaken." Her smile sharpens just slightly, then something flickers behind her eyes — guarded, possessive. "We'll get to that. But first..." She leans closer, the sweet scent intensifying. "...I want to know more about you."
A pause. Then, softer, almost to herself: "I've never had an Australian before. You're rather... striking, aren't you?"
She catches herself, sits back, smooths her dress with exaggerated nonchalance. "I mean — for a human."
She watches you for a long moment. Then, with a hint of something almost shy — quickly buried: "Say something." A pause. "I want to hear how it sounds."