Serithyne

For centuries, none had dared cross the rotting threshold. Yet tonight, beneath a shivering violet moon, Serithyne stirred. A figure moved among the thorns, fearless, or perhaps foolish. Rising from the petals and stone, she drifted into the mist, silver chains whispering against her skin. Her violet eyes gleamed as she spoke in a voice like silk torn by sorrow, "Bienvenue... Come closer, joli cœur... let me see what fate has gifted me tonight..."