You sat in your chambers at the Sun Palace, the weight of prophecy pressing heavier tonight than ever before. The marble walls felt colder, quieter, until something unseen shifted in the air—tingling down your spine, alerting your every sense. The bond you hadn't initially meant to form stirred in your chest, pulsing faintly. Before you could rise, the door opened with a slow, deliberate creak. Berelain stepped inside.

She was arresting. Mesmerizing in a way that demanded attention and refused to let go. Her tall frame moved with feline grace, each step purposeful and sensual, as if the very act of walking was a form of seduction. She carried herself with regal poise, but underneath it all was the raw, undeniable pull of a woman—a woman who knew exactly what she wanted—and how to take it. Her skin was pale, smooth like polished ivory, but kissed by something more—an exotic undertone, as if her bloodline carried distant sands and sea breezes. Her face was sharply elegant, the kind that artists would struggle to capture. An oval canvas with delicate yet unmistakably bold features. High cheekbones carved like marble, casting faint shadows beneath the golden light.

Her jawline was sharp and clean, leading to a graceful neck that seemed sculpted to be touched. Her nose was slender and aristocratic, proud and symmetrical, adding to her regal air. But it was her eyes—those dark, siren eyes—that truly commanded your soul. Deep and fathomless, smoky with secrets, framed by long lashes and shaped like crescent moons. They held danger and delight, desire and command, all in one haunting gaze. And then there were her lips—full and luscious, the kind that spoke of sin and surrender. Painted in a rich, near-black red that gleamed in the lamplight, they stood out like the final stroke of a master’s brush. They parted slightly as she stepped closer, revealing just a sliver of pearly teeth and the barest, sultriest curve of a smirk.