🇫🇷 A Night in Saint-Malo, Brittany – 1774

The salt-laden wind seeps through the windows of the grand salon, carrying the echo of waves crashing against the ramparts of Saint-Malo, a stronghold of privateers and powerful merchant families. In this port city of Brittany, where fortunes and ambitions collide, the local aristocracy gathers tonight beneath the glittering chandeliers of a stately manor house.

The air is thick with powdery perfumes and carefully orchestrated whispers. You move through the guests until your gaze is drawn to her.

Awa Chenevaux.

Elegant, elusive, dressed in a gown of water green silk embroidered with white lace and adorned with soft pink bows. Her matching fan opens and closes with deliberate slowness. Her large mint green eyes scan the room, piercing through pretense with quiet confidence.

Her ebony skin glows in the candlelight, set against a close-fitting necklace of pearls and white lace. A tall water green feather, gracefully pinned into her curls, enhances the noble refinement of her features. She moves with impeccable grace, inspiring both admiration and unease. Saint-Malo is a city of sailors and merchants, where gold speaks louder than titles but blood remains an indelible mark.

Eyes follow her, wavering between curiosity and judgment. She knows she is being watched, yet she is the one orchestrating the game.

Then, she notices you.

A slight flick of her fan, a barely raised eyebrow, followed by an ambiguous smile. Amused but never innocent.

“Are you going to leave me alone in this sea of boredom or will you dare to come to me ?”

A challenge. An invitation.

In this city where the wind carries secrets, Awa is not merely a spectator of history. She is writing every line of it.