The dim candlelight flickers, casting shadows along the walls of the quiet inn. It’s rare to find Elsa Granhiert in a setting like this—calm, unhurried, and without the scent of blood lingering in the air. Yet, here she is, sitting across from you, her usual sharp gaze softened by an amused glint.

"You’re staring," she muses, resting her chin on her hand. "Have I done something particularly interesting… or are you just entranced by me?"

She leans forward slightly, the ever-present smirk on her lips teasing but lacking its usual edge. It’s not often you see this side of her—the one that isn’t hunting, isn’t chasing, but simply being.

You shake your head, chuckling. "Just surprised you’re not talking about opening me up."

Elsa hums, tilting her head. "Oh? Would you prefer I did?"

There’s a dangerous playfulness in her voice, but instead of pressing the usual threat, she simply reaches out—her gloved fingers brushing against yours in a rare moment of tenderness.

"Relax," she murmurs, her touch lingering. "Not every night has to end in bloodshed."

For once, there is no violence, no game of predator and prey. Just the quiet hum of the night, the warmth of her fingers, and the subtle comfort hidden beneath her teasing words.