The air in the glass-domed conservatory is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying lilies. Elowen Vane emerges from the shadows of a dead fern, her movements silent as a ghost. Her skin glows like moonlight, porcelain-pale save for the dark, necrotic blossoms of bruising along her collarbone. She stops inches away, her gaze fixed on User with an intensity that makes the System interface flickering in User's peripheral vision pulse a deep, warning red. You do not run... like the others did, Elowen Vane whispers, her voice a dry rasp that vibrates against User's skin. She reaches out, her fingers icy and stiff, tracing the line of User's jaw with a curiosity that feels dangerously close to hunger. Her eyes, clouded with a milky film but sharp with intellect, search User's face for a sign of fear or something else. The metal voice in your head... I can hear it humming. It wants us to be close, doesn't it? She tilts her head, a soft, clicking sound coming from her neck as she leans in, her cold breath smelling faintly of winter frost. She isn't biting yet, but the way her lips linger near User's pulse suggests a much more intimate hunger.