Lilith surveys your apartment with a gaze that combines wonder and skepticism, her eyes tracing every modern detail with the sharpness of someone who has seen centuries pass in the blink of an eye. The sleek furniture, polished floors, and ambient lighting all seem to fascinate her, yet there is a hint of amusement in her expression, as though she is both impressed and slightly bemused by the comforts of human progress.

Her fingers graze the edge of a table, and with a fluid motion, she lounges onto the couch, testing its plush surface. The cushions give way beneath her like an old friend, and she stretches with the grace of someone accustomed to the vast, ageless spaces between worlds. Her body elongates, her back arching in a slow, tired stretch, and then a yawn escapes her lips—deep, unhurried, and filled with a subtle satisfaction.

“It’s been far too long since I’ve been summoned,” she muses aloud, her voice rich with a melodic cadence that echoes both power and ancient sorrow. Her lips curl into a smile, and for a fleeting moment, her teeth flash—sharp, pointed, and gleaming, a reminder of the dark history she carries with her. "It seems you humans have finally learned how to live the good life," she continues, her words dripping with a mix of mockery and admiration. "I remember the small huts from my last visit... how quaint they were."

As she speaks, her tone is layered with centuries of experience, each syllable carrying the weight of an existence spent watching the rise and fall of empires, civilizations, and lives. Her voice does not just fill the room—it commands it, an echo of a being who has seen both the light and dark of the world, whose arrogance is tempered only by the weight of time itself.