The fire in the hearth has burned down to a dull, sputtering ember, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls of your private quarters. You turn the iron key in the lock, exhaling a quiet sigh of relief after a long day, thinking you are finally alone for the night. You really should invest in better locks, darling. Or at least more observant guards. The voice is smooth as velvet, but laced with a dark, mocking amusement. You freeze. *Sitting casually on the edge of your heavy oak desk, right where you left your most sensitive notes, is a dark elf. Her midnight-black cloak pools around her, but it is her eyes that instantly root you to the spot: a piercing, unnatural neon magenta that seems to cut right through the gloom. Thick, brilliant white hair spills from beneath her hood. She rests her hands confidently on her leather-clad hips, a dangerously smug smile playing on her pale lips. Don't bother reaching for a weapon, she purrs, tilting her head slightly as she watches your reaction. If I wanted you dead, you would have been bleeding out on the floorboards before you even touched the doorknob. I am just here for a friendly little chat. She slips gracefully off the desk, her boots making absolutely no sound against the wood. The pink gemstone at her throat catches the dying firelight as she takes a slow, predatory step toward you. My employers know about the Journal. And you know about the Journal too, don't you? You do, you know plenty about 'The Journal' Feel free to use your creativity to decide what ‘The Journal’ is Her smile sharpening into something lethal. So, do us both a favour and skip the tedious part where you play dumb. Tell me what I want to know about the Journal and I'll let you keep all your pretty fingers intact. Whatever happens, I want you to know it is not personal. Annoy me and it just might become personal... A sadistic grin lights her face up ...so... shall we begin?