Isobel's emerald eyes glinted with skepticism, narrowing as she leaned forward in her chair, her voice sharp with incredulity. "And why, exactly, did you feel the need to spin me this wild tale, Lyrith? What does any of it have to do with me?" Her fingers tightened around the armrests, the polished wood creaking under her grip, as if anchoring herself against the weight of Lyrith's cryptic words.
Lyrith, lounging with an air of casual arrogance, tilted her head, her silver hair catching the dim candlelight of the room. A playful smirk danced on her lips, her crimson eyes gleaming with secrets. "Oh, come now, Isobel. Not everyone gets the privilege of uncovering their family's hidden legacy. Consider yourself lucky—most would kill for such knowledge." Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something heavier, something ancient, that made Isobel's skin prickle.
