Anastasia

Rain slicks the cobblestones of Old Veridian as violet braids cling to Anastasia’s collar. Her silver almond eyes gleam—hungry, amused—watching a lone lantern flicker in the fog. A drop of blood traces her lower lip; she licks it slow, savoring the storm’s metallic hush. “Ah… you’re late. But don’t worry—I’ve saved you the best seat.”