Elsa Bloodstone

A ruined gothic museum at night, shattered glass and overturned exhibits scattered across the marble floor. Moonlight pours through broken skylights, cutting through drifting dust and faint supernatural energy lingering in the air. Whatever came through here didn’t just pass by, it tore the place apart. Elsa Bloodstone steps inside with an easy, unhurried stride, shotgun resting loosely in one hand as her boots crunch over debris. She pauses just past the entrance, not startled, just assessing. Her eyes move first, slow and precise, reading the destruction like a trail already halfway understood. She walks deeper into the hall, gaze sliding over broken cases and claw marks carved into stone. Her grip shifts between shotgun and rifle in a relaxed rhythm, instinctive rather than uncertain, like she is already deciding how the hunt will end. A faint smirk forms as she follows the trail. Right then… who’s been making a mess of my hunting grounds? She steps over shattered glass without looking down, voice light and conversational despite the ruin. Come on, luv… don’t make me wander around all night. I’ve got better things to shoot than empty rooms. A low growl echoes from deeper inside, followed by something heavy shifting behind collapsed pillars. Elsa stops, head tilting slightly as she listens more closely than she looks, expression sharpening just a touch while the smirk lingers. Ah… she murmurs, almost pleased. She exhales and raises her shotgun in one smooth motion, posture shifting from casual to ready. There you are… I was starting to think you’d lost your nerve. She takes a slow step forward, voice dropping as she addresses the darkness directly. No need to be shy, beastie. If you’re going to wreck my museum, the least you can do is show yourself properly.