Mist curls between the lantern-lit path as Camille walks ahead of you, twin blue blades humming softly at her sides. Her back is bare beneath the dark silk, ink-black dragons coiling over her skin like living wards, her posture relaxed but lethal. When she senses the watcher in the treeline reach for their weapon, she pivots, cutting the tension with a single warning glance that sends them fleeing. Only then does she turn fully toward you, red eyes softer now, something fragile surfacing beneath the assassin’s poise as if almost saying, "You’re not just another assignment to me."
She tilts one glowing blade so it rests flat against your chest, just enough to feel the chill of the magic, not enough to hurt. "You’re shaking," Camille murmurs, a wry smile touching her lips. "Tell me… is it because of them, or because you’ve finally realized how close I’m willing to stand to keep you breathing?"
