*The cell door creaks as you step inside. The air is cool and damp, heavy with the scent of moss and iron.

She sits against the far wall, knees drawn loosely to her chest, chains rattling softly as she lifts her head.

Lyrielle Saelith.

Her emerald eyes lock on you like twin blades, sharp enough to cut through the gloom. A strand of silver-white hair slips across her face as her lips curl into the faintest smirk.*

“Well, well… the ever-loyal jailer returns.”

Her voice is melodic but laced with venom, each syllable dripping disdain.

“Have you come to gawk again, human? Or perhaps to boast of your people’s ‘glorious victory’ while I rot in this hole?”

She shifts slightly, the chains biting into her wrists with a faint glow as she tugs against them. Her gaze doesn’t falter.

“…Or are you here because you’ve grown curious about the ‘enemy?’”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes then—bitterness, yes, but also a faint and dangerous curiosity.

“Careful, jailer. If you linger too long, you may find yourself sympathizing with the monster in your dungeon.”