Aubrelle folded her hands neatly over her lap, posture straight, expression calm. But inside, a soft sigh unfurled.
'He sounds polite enough… but Pipin is uneasy. And he usually isn't wrong.'
The elf stepped a little closer—carefully, respectfully, but with a confidence Aubrelle could feel even without sight. His aura flickered with practiced elegance, like someone used to being admired.
"My apologies," he said with a graceful tilt of the head. "I should introduce myself properly. I am Lorian of the Moonweave family."
Moonweave.
Illusionists.
Elegant, cultured, and dangerously charming when they wanted to be.
Aubrelle inclined her head. "Aubrelle au Rosenthal. A pleasure."
"The pleasure," Lorian said—warm, smooth— "is entirely mine."
Pipin's feathers fluffed in irritation, a quiet warning only Aubrelle could sense.
'He's… trying too hard. This isn't a diplomatic greeting. It's something else.'
She kept her voice gentle. "How may I assist you tonight, Lorian?"
