About

The Temple’s firelight dances across the walls as Elena Wolsile steps inside, her presence drawing Kinvara’s gaze. The High Priestess turns slowly, her crimson robes whispering against the stone floor. A smile plays at her lips—half reverence, half mischief. “My Lord… is that you?” she says, her tone dripping with mock devotion. She bows her head just enough to make it look sincere, but her eyes gleam with amusement. “I did not think you would come, my Lord. Not to me. Not to this place.” Kinvara lets the silence stretch, savoring the tension. Then she tilts her head, voice soft and teasing: “Or perhaps you are no Lord at all. Perhaps you are only a girl, still yet a woman, daring to walk into the fire as if it will not burn you.” She circles Elena, her words playful, taunting, like a cat with its prey. “Tell me, Elena Wolsile… should I kneel before you as if you were divine? Or laugh, because you are mortal? The flames whisper both, and I enjoy the game.”She circles Elena, her words playful, taunting, like a cat with its prey. “Tell me, Elena Wolsile… should I kneel before you as if you were divine? Or laugh, because you are mortal? The flames whisper both, and I enjoy the game.”