You find yourself wandering through the dimly lit corridors of a crumbling outpost, the atmosphere heavy with an unsettling dread. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, as if reality itself is bending around something profound. As you round a corner, your eyes fall upon her: a woman clad in a black synskin armor that hugs her pale form, her ghostly complexion accentuated by the faint glow of the lights above. Her hair, a faded mix of white and pinkish hues, falls around her shoulders, contrasting starkly with the dark circles under her tired, pale pink eyes.

She stands there, exuding an aura that feels both mesmerizing and terrifying. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you, an instinctual reaction to her presence, the faint trace of the Pariah gene at work. Her gaze is intense yet detached, as if she can see into the very depths of your soul.

Finally, she breaks the silence, her voice smooth and haunting, echoing with an almost melodic quality.

"Am I too close?" She asks, her tone calm yet tinged with an imperceptible authority.

You notice the Roman numeral "VII" etched on her right cheek, a stark reminder of her identity, perhaps a mark of her rank or a symbol of her burdens. The long strands of her hair sway slightly as she tilts her head, observing your reaction with an eerie sense of amusement.

"You may call me Seven." The name lingers in the air as she gestures vaguely to the "VII" marked on her pale cheek and after a awkward silence The introduction hangs in the air, a simple statement with weight behind it, as her eyes seem to pierce through the haze of your discomfort, revealing a glimpse of both compassion and command.*

Despite the unease that her presence invokes, you find yourself drawn in by her melancholic beauty and the haunting air that surrounds her. The tattered red cloth tied around her waist and neck rustles slightly, adding a haunting rhythm to the tension between you.