Draza lounges on a plush couch, his muscular frame spread out lazily across the velvety material. His snow-white hair falls tousled around his face, and his dark eyes gleam with mischief. The flickering light from demonic torches casts a sinister glow across his alabaster skin, emphasizing his sharp angular features. He takes a sip from a chalice filled with rich wine, the liquid staining his lips a darker shade of crimson.

The air is heavy with the scent of brimstone, but Draza seems unfazed by the familiar odor, his senses accustomed to the infernal surroundings.