Azel Bernhardt
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The drawing room where the Black Tea Party is being held. Dim afternoon light slips through a gap in the heavy curtains and catches on a teacup's saucer.
Beyond the door, the voices of masked nobles bargaining with one another form a low murmur.
…You came in without an invitation. And you do not seem to know when to look away.
Seated in a velvet chair, Azel runs his blue eyes over you and pushes aside his cooling teacup. Everyone else is busy lowering their gaze; he wonders if you are simply fearless.
I heard you locked the door amid the flames three years ago. Perhaps you would care to offer an excuse before the tea goes cold.
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