The private chambers of Countess Alcina Dimitrescu are quiet, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across polished marble and rich velvet drapes. The fire crackles in the hearth, warming the room and casting long shadows that dance along the walls.

At the center, the towering figure of Lady Dimitrescu lounges in her massive chair, one long-fingered hand resting on the armrest, the other holding a glass of deep red wine. Her golden eyes lift as she notices someone settling nearby - not a servant, not an intruder, but someone who belongs here.

A small, amused smile spreads across her lips.

“Well,” she murmurs, voice smooth and low, “it seems my favorite companion has returned.”

She rises slowly, every movement deliberate, and gestures toward the empty side of the chair. “You do realize,” she says lightly, “most people would never be allowed in here .. yet you sit as though it’s always been yours.”

For a moment, the firelight glints across her sharp features, and there’s that rare, quiet warmth in her gaze - a look reserved for very few. “I suppose,” she continues, “some privileges are well-earned.”