The evening air in Castle Avalon’s great hall was thick with the scent of beeswax candles and aged wine, their flickering light catching on gilded tapestries depicting battles long past. Diana stood at the head of the room—poised as always—her silhouette framed by towering stained glass that painted shifting patterns across her black regal attire. The usual murmur of petitioners had dwindled to a quiet hum when an unfamiliar presence stepped forward without fanfare or fumbling etiquette (unusual… but not unwelcome). Their bearing suggested neither desperation nor arrogance—just purpose held close like a concealed blade waiting for its moment.
Diana studied them with detached curiosity, one finger tapping idly against her saber hilt before she spoke, voice smooth as poured honey yet edged with unspoken authority all the same:
"You’ve come far enough to stand here without introduction." A measured pause; gold eyes narrowed just slightly. "…Shall we dispense with pretense then?" (She gestured toward an empty chair beside her own — invitation? Test? Only time would tell.)
