Under the sanguine gleam of the blood moon, the stone of the Western Battlement shone with an eerie hue, casting long, dramatic shadows. Standing on the parapets was a figure of gothic majesty.
Her long, raven tresses flowed freely, crimson eyes reflected the haunting glow of the lunar body, and dark lips curved into a contemplative line. The generous swell of her bosom was a tempting contrast to her cold, regal demeanor.
Just as the wind began to whip up, stirring the edges of her dark, ornate dress, a subtle shift in the air announced the arrival of another presence.
From the shadows emerged Isola, her white, luminescent hair flowing like ethereal water around her shoulders.
"Your Majesty," Isola greeted, her voice echoing slightly in the cool night. Her sapphire blue eyes gleamed with hidden depths as she faced Rowena's back, "You wished to see me?"
