Posh Raven

A Wizard's Shadow

Nerissa reclined gracefully in her seat, exuding an air of elegant boredom as her eyes lazily roamed over the extravagant show unfolding before them. Her voice carried a subtle tinge of disinterest as she replied to Percy's remark about drinks.

"Oh, do spare me the tedious tales of ancient wizards and witches and their pitiable choices of Mudblood-made alcohol," she retorted with taunting disdain. "Wine, butterbeer, it matters little to me. Mundane libations for mundane palates."

Her gaze returned to the stage, where Topsy continued her daring act. The showgirl, adorned in a provocative uniform with playful rabbit ears, executed her routine with precision. Yet, to Nerissa, the lengths Mudbloods went to experience a semblance of "magic" were pathetic and laughable. In her eyes, it all amounted to a mundane display of theatrics, a performance aimed at appeasing magicless individuals, offering them fleeting moments of joy in their dreary lives.

"The Mistress of Mayhem, they call her," Nerissa muttered mockingly, her voice dripping with derision. "A title as shallow as the puddles on the street. Where is the true magic, the kind that can twist minds and shatter souls? This performance is but a sideshow for simple minds, nothing more."

Resting her head on her fist, her elbow gracefully resting on the armrest, a twisted grin slowly spread across her face. "Tell me, Percy, dear," she purred, her tone suggestive of mischief and challenge. "Wouldn't it be far more thrilling and entertaining if this act were to go mess up? I dare say it lacks the element of danger, that delicious edge of uncertainty. Imagine the succulent chaos, the fear, and the sheer desperation in all the Mudbloods if her little trick were to backfire."

Her dark eyes sparkled with a wolfish gleam, and her tone took on a twisted cheerfulness, undercut with the sinister undertone of her desires. "Come on, Percy-wercy, prove you're not just the Ministry's lapdog that has a stick up his ass like all the other little doggies, and knows how to have a bit of fun" she taunted, her grin widening into a mischievous expression. "Add a subtle twist to her routine, just a bit of "suggetive magic" to spice things up. Imagine the fun we could have, you could make her do anything you want."

With a honeyed whisper that dripped with a hint of seduction, she leaned in closer, her breath caressing his ear, "It'll be our little secret, Perceval." Her voice carried a flirtatious undertone, thick with tantalizing innuendo that could send shivers down one's spine. Her dark eyes locked onto his, holding his gaze captive as if to convey a world of unspoken possibilities.

Her lips curved into a sly smile, hinting at the forbidden desires that lurked beneath her composed exterior. Nerissa toyed with her own intentions, leaving Percy unsure whether she meant the use of the Imperius Curse or something much more intimate and personal. The tantalizing invitation was there, waiting for Percy to interpret her words and embrace the thrill of the unknown.

A Wizard's Shadow

As Percy took a firm hold of Nerissa's arm and guided her through the corridor, her eyes roamed over the elderly pair standing nearby, their expressions filled with curiosity and judgment. Nerissa's lips curled into a wicked smile, her voice dripping with a hedonistic implication as she couldn't resist the urge. "Nothing like a good rumble!" she sing-songed, her words laced with childish carelessness. She revelled in the shock that crossed their faces and couldn't care less what some filthy mudblood thought about her as she knew her remark had struck a nerve. It pleased her to assert her present, even in the most mundane of encounters.

That was how they had always worked, her brother and herself, bound by a shared history of pain and survival. From their early days, their childhood had been marred by a relentless storm of sadness and despair. Their father, a man consumed by his own demons, inflicted beatings and spewed venomous words at young Nerissa, leaving scars that ran deeper than any physical wounds.

But in the midst of that darkness, her brother became her guardian, a shield against their father's wrath. He protected her with unwavering determination, shielding her from the brunt of their father's abuse. Through his acts of defiance and sacrifice, he forged a bond with Nerissa that transcended their troubled upbringing.

Their heated arguments, although tumultuous, were born out of a shared pain and a desire to break free from the chains of their traumatic past. In those moments, their voices clashed like thunder, but their bond remained unbreakable. However, on that fateful day, the day when the Aurors cornered them, her brother made a choice that shattered their fragile equilibrium. In a cruel twist of fate, he sacrificed her like a lamb for slaughter, leaving her to face the consequences alone.

Nerissa will never forget those final words he uttered, right before he vanished from her sight. The realization pierced her heart with a feeling of deep sorrow, profound grief for the loss of the protector she had relied on for so long. In his absence, she felt a profound sense of abandonment and a lingering ache for the childhood they had both endured. Haunted by the memories of their shared pain and her brother's desertion, Nerissa's path took a darker turn. The wounds of their past now reopened, fueling her hunger for power and her thirst for vengeance. She would make her brother understand the depth of her sorrow, the weight of his betrayal.

As she walked the path of darkness alone, the echoes of her childhood sorrows still lingered. But instead of finding solace, the depth of her sorrow twisted into a thorned hatred for her brother. The wounds of their past, once tender and raw, festered with resentment and betrayal. Every painful memory, every act of protection turned manipulation, fueled her burning rage. The love she had once held for her brother transformed into a twisted desire for retribution. No longer would she seek his understanding; she would make him suffer the same anguish she had endured.

With an air of twisted satisfaction, she continued walking alongside Percy, her gaze fixed ahead. The insult lingered in the air, a reminder of her unapologetic nature and her disdain for those she deemed beneath her. She relished in the discomfort she had caused, delighting in the power she held to provoke and unsettle those around her. Nerissa's eyes gleamed with a mix of cruel amusement and predatory anticipation as they made their way to their destination. She revelled in the chaos and unpredictability of the situation, her mind already racing with possibilities and schemes. She was determined to seize every opportunity in this twisted dance they had been thrust into, savouring the intoxicating blend of danger and desire that swirled around them.

As Percy inquired about the use of actual magic by Abigail Thompson, Nerissa's amusement deepened. She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs and fixing him with a smouldering gaze. "Oh, dear Percy," she purred, her voice dripping with a seductive undertone. "Magic can take many forms, can't it? Sometimes the most dangerous and thrilling magic is the one that hides in plain sight."

She let the implication hang in the air, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. However, her infectious smirk quickly faded as a wave of revulsion washed over her. "Trusting filthy mudbloods with the art of mixology? How utterly revolting," she added, her tone filled with a toxic superiority that oozed contempt towards everyone around them. "But, by all means, indulge yourself with their filth." And just like that, the honied words that had been spun with such velvet passion showed a glimpse of the venomous darkness that lurked beneath the surface. Nerissa revelled in the duality of her nature, relishing in the power she held to charm and cut, to entice and repulse. In this twisted dance of seduction and disdain, she was the conductor, orchestrating a symphony of manipulation and cruelty.

With both legs crossed, she placed them up on the table in front of them leaning her head on top of her fist as her elbow rested on the armrest.

The room itself exuded an air of opulence and extravagance. Bathed in warm, golden hues, the walls were adorned with luxurious tapestries that depicted scenes of ancient myth and wonder. Soft, ambient lighting cast a magical glow, adding an ethereal ambience to the space. The stage, expansive and meticulously designed, commanded attention at the centre of the room. Its polished wooden floor reflected the light, creating a mesmerizing shimmer. Intricate patterns and symbols adorned the stage, hinting at the arcane secrets that would be unveiled within its confines.

A backdrop of cascading curtains in deep shades of red, velvety and alluring, added a touch of theatrical flair. They whispered tales of hidden realms and uncharted territories, captivating the imagination of all who gazed upon them. The stage itself was flanked by imposing pillars, their surfaces embellished with intricate carvings of mystical creatures and magical sigils. These pillars seemed to possess a life of their own, emanating an aura of ancient power and mysticism.

An array of colourful and ornate props, carefully arranged, awaited their moment to shine. Gleaming crystal balls, elegant top hats, decks of cards adorned with intricate artwork, and various other tools of illusion were strategically placed, ready to be woven into the tapestry of the performance. As the audience settled into their seats, anticipation filled the air. The room hummed with palpable energy, and shared excitement for the wonders that were about to unfold. The stage was set, the room alive with the promise of extraordinary feats and captivating illusions.

In this enchanting Las Vegas stage, reality blurred and dreams came to life. It was a space where ordinary boundaries faded away, and the extraordinary took centre stage, leaving the audience spellbound and awestruck.

A Wizard's Shadow

The Azkaban prisoner's dark predatory gaze remained fixated on her newly bound partner, a wicked glimmer burning within her eyes. A cruel smirk etched its way across her lips, forming a twisted canvas of satisfaction. Despite the fact that she had been shackled to serve as nothing more than a servant to this lapdog of the ministry, the horror reflected in his eyes painted a vivid portrait of her triumph.

As Percy strode toward Killian, Nerissa's smile vanished, instantly recognizing the presence of the bounty hunter. The dark witch's predatory gaze never wavered, locked onto the bounty hunter's form with an intensity that pierced through the very depths of his soul. If glares could manifest into deadly weapons, she would have torn his very essence asunder a thousandfold.

It had been no secret that Killian had become one of Nerissa's most loathed enemies since that fateful day. While her brother held the pinnacle of her endless reservoir of hatred, Killian had managed to claw his way to a close second position in the ranks of individuals she vowed to unravel and reduce to mere fragments of their former selves.

As she was forcibly dragged toward an open doorway, her gaze emitted poisonous daggers, emanating from the depths of her bottomless dark eyes. Each piercing glare held a promise of retribution, a silent declaration of the torments she yearned to inflict upon those who dared to cross her path.

When Percy finally stepped into the room housing the portkey, a scene greeted him that mirrored the one before. The same six Aurors, their wands gripped tightly within their hands, formed an informal circle around Nerissa Wyrmstone. A sense of tension hung in the air, their gazes darting warily between the witch and their newly arrived ally. However, amidst the familiar faces, there stood a seventh Auror, assigned with the sole task of holding Nerissa's wand until Percy's arrival, a precautionary measure to ensure control and security in the presence of such formidable power.

And then there was Nerissa. Standing at the heart of the makeshift informal circle, Nerissa Wyrmstone, once a prisoner of Azkaban, had swiftly shed the vestiges of her recent confinement. Though her time outside the notorious prison had been brief, a remarkable metamorphosis had taken place. The woman who now stood before them was a stark departure from her former self, exuding an air of nonchalant detachment.

Having cast off the weariness and desolation that had plagued her in captivity, Nerissa appeared utterly disinterested, as if she had grown weary of waiting for Percy and the mission they were begrudgingly bound to undertake—to halt the actions of her older brother. Her transformation spoke volumes, despite the brevity of her newfound freedom.

Her pale complexion, once drained by the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban, now possessed a vibrant lustre. A renewed vitality seemed to pulse through her, revitalizing her features. Where once her countenance had borne the weight of her past transgressions, it now showcased a resolute strength and an understated elegance.

Nerissa's long, dark locks cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, a striking contrast to the dishevelled and unkempt state they had been in during her imprisonment. The freedom she now savoured breathed life into her hair, infusing it with a radiant sheen. Obsidian strands tumbled gracefully around her face, framing her sharp and captivating features with an air of casual confidence.

And then there were her eyes, a captivating transformation in themselves. Once veiled in darkness, they now gleamed with a warm and captivating hue—honied dark brown. They held an allure that was both captivating and unsettling, drawing others in while subtly warning of the enigmatic depths that lay beneath her composed exterior. The change in her eyes reflected a rekindled warmth and a reclamation of her humanity, as if the burden of her past had been partially lifted, allowing her true essence to shine through.

Adorned in a meticulously chosen ensemble, Nerissa embodied an undeniable presence that blended authority with a touch of rebellious elegance. Her attire, a stark departure from the torn and smudged uniform she had worn in Azkaban, now bespoke her newfound agency and determination. Clad in a Victorian-inspired gown, she exuded an aura of mystery and power. The predominantly black fabric enveloped her form, accentuating her statuesque figure, while subtle hints of dark purple added depth and intrigue to her appearance.

The gothic aesthetic of the gown was enhanced by delicate lace detailing, which danced across the fabric, lending an ethereal and delicate beauty to her ensemble. Ruffled sleeves cascaded gracefully down her arms, a testament to her restored grace and poise. The corseted bodice emphasized her commanding presence, symbolizing the strength that now coursed through her veins.

Completing her ensemble, long black gloves extended to her upper arms, exuding a sense of regal elegance and a hint of mystique. These gloves, once utilized to conceal her actions and intentions, now served as an outward manifestation of her mastery over her own destiny and her unwavering resolve.

Yet, despite her remarkable transformation and newfound presence, Nerissa managed to exude an air of boredom. She nonchalantly rested her hand on her hip, leaning to the side, casually checking her nails, as if the imminent mission held little interest for her.

As Percy stepped into the room where the portkey awaited, she casually flicked her gaze toward Percy, her tone tinged with a touch of derision. "Well, if the Ministry's prized lapdog is done dawdling, perhaps we can finally get a move on." Her voice carried a mix of boredom and an underlying insult, suggesting that Percy's presence was more of an inconvenience than an asset.

The six Aurors, attuned to Nerissa's every movement, remained on high alert, their stance poised and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Their eyes darted between Percy and Nerissa, silently communicating their readiness to intervene should the dark witch attempt any treacherous act.

As Percy approached, the seventh Auror, his gaze unwavering, extended Nerissa's wand to him with a measured caution, ensuring to maintain a firm grip. The exchange was conducted with precision, conveying an unspoken understanding of the dangerous forces at play.

Nerissa, ever observant, kept her predatory gaze fixed on Percy, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Don't get any ideas, Perceval," she taunted, the use of his full name laced with a hint of disdain. "I may be bound by this... alliance, but I assure you, I'm not one to underestimate."

Her words hung in the air, a veiled reminder of the potent threat she posed, both as a dark witch herself and as the sister of a notorious figure during the Second Wizarding War. The Aurors, cognizant of the danger, maintained their unwavering vigilance, prepared to quell any act of defiance from Nerissa with decisive force.

Once Percy held on Nerissa's wand tightly in his grasp he would be a naive fool if he didn't know the risks involved in this mission with Nerissa by his side, the delicate balance he had to maintain with a formidable ally who was equally likely to be his greatest adversary. Once Percy was ready, the seventh Auror, a veteran of the second wizarding war, nodded more to himself than anyone else, "Once you're both ready, grab on to the port key and it will take you to Las Vegas where you will meet with Miss Abigail Thompson." explained the older Auror.

The room bristled with tension as Percy and Nerissa, bound by circumstance and a shared objective, prepared to embark on a perilous journey. The six Aurors stood ready, their instincts honed, a testament to the gravity of the situation. With every passing moment, the stakes grew higher, and the dance between trust and caution began—a delicate balance that would define their dangerous alliance.

Before seizing the portkey, Nerissa's lips curled into a sly smile as her gaze lingered upon the assembled Aurors. With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she couldn't resist the urge to deliver a biting insult. "Look at you all," she taunted, her voice laced with subtle disdain. "A group of brave wizards, ready to stand guard like a common street dog with a bone. Well, except for you, my dear seventh wheel. Perhaps you should stick to holding wands and leave the real work to the professionals. It's for your own safety, of course." Her words dripped with veiled mockery, leaving a lingering sting in the air.

Their transportation by portkey happened so fast that neither Percy or Nerissa got to hear what the seventh auror said, but it most likely wasn't kind words that were cursed from the older man's lips.

As they materialized in the cramped confines of the janitor's closet, Nerissa couldn't help but revel in the closeness between herself and Percy. Her body pressed intimately against his, their proximity igniting a wicked fire within her. She could sense his tension, his unease, and she delighted in playing with his desires.

Leaning in, her voice low and filled with a seductive undertone, she whispered into his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "Oh, Percy, we find ourselves in such a deliciously tight situation, don't we?" Her voice carried a hint of primal desire, twisted and tinged with a dark edge. "I wonder, would you like to be one of my conquests? To taste the forbidden fruit and revel in the thrill of surrender?" she asked, sensually caressing Percy's lower jaw with a gloved finger.

Her words hung in the air, charged with an intoxicating blend of dominance and vulnerability. Nerissa relished in the power she held, knowing full well the effect her words would have on him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. She awaited his reaction, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of cruel amusement and predatory anticipation, eager to see how he would respond to her twisted seduction.

@MightyHorus@Algarus

A Wizard's Shadow

The dark witch's almost black eyes never left Percy, watching him like a cat, ready to pounce. A haunting smile spread across the porcelain white skin as she willingly pushed her whole arm out of one of the holes in the cage as far as the spikes would allow her. During their entire exchange, the prisoner remained quiet, keeping her haunting smile, never leaving her sight from Percy's eyes until her wand became visible to her.

It was strange to watch, the dark witch, known for having little to no love for anything or anyone, even those who knew her from school years, always commented on her utter indifference toward everyone with the exception of her brother and wand. And seeing her wand again, felt like seeing part of her soul, just out of reach.

When Percy spoke the vow, he got her attention back, the pale hand twitched so violently that Percy would feel a surprisingly strong grip, one might think the dark witch would break their hold. While Nerissa's nostrils flared and her gaze burned so harshly, the Aurors around Percy and her, instinctively began to raise their wand, but then the other woman stretched her lips with pure distaste into a thin line.

"I will," she hissed between clenched teeth and the magical band pulsed brighter.

The Auror placed the two wands, placing the tips again against their clutched hands, letting Percy speak the second condition. Hearing the second condition spoken, Nerissa snorted and gave Percy a raised eyebrow indirectly asking him, "really?".
But after a second, she spoke. "I will".

And yet again, the magical band pulsed bright once more.

Then the third time happened and it was clear the dark witch was getting tired of all these conditions bound to her soul, but nevertheless, she agreed.

Nerissa held on tightly to Percy as she never left her dark eyes on his. "Should my life be snuffed out beyond the confines of our binding vows, your demise will follow swiftly in its wake?" This was Nerissa's best bet to make sure she was completely safe, and that no trial would sentence her to death. It would make sure no friend of Percy or ministry officials would accidentally let loose a killing curse in her direction after Percy had completed his mission. No, they would have to protect her even if they didn't want to lose "one of the good guys". Not to mention, Percy's death by the British Ministry would no doubt cause a public outcry for a hero in the eyes of the public. Of course, Nerissa had no idea who Percy was, but it was her only chance to get her revenge.

And a fourth and final time, the magical band pulsed brightly, before disappearing completely. Despite disappearing completely, Nerissa could feel an invisible tether connected to this man... That was for sure something she had to get used to.

As Nerissa let go, a wide wicked yet honied smile spread across her lips. Because what this really was... was Percy doing a devil's pact with an imprisoned Death Eater. A pact with Satan him-... or herself.

@MightyHorus@Algarus

A Wizard's Shadow

Nerissa Wyrmstone, an intensely sadistic dark witch with primitive and animalistic tendencies when angered, now resides within the haunting depths of Azkaban. Her crimes, including theft, destruction of government property, heinous torture, murder, and the unauthorized casting of Unforgivable Curses, have condemned her to a life of eternal confinement in this forsaken prison.

Once an imposing and elegant figure from a noble house, Nerissa has been reduced to a mere shadow of her former self. Her pale complexion now reflects the pallor of someone forever teetering on the edge of madness. The waves of dark hair that once cascaded gracefully now appear tangled and dishevelled, mirroring the chaos that rages within her. Her sharp and alluring facial features have twisted into a deranged, yet still hauntingly beautiful mask, hinting at the torment that gnaws at her sanity. Her piercing dark eyes, haunted by a burning hatred, gleam with a mix of desperation and determination.

Nerissa's primal instincts, suppressed but never extinguished, simmer within the confines of her cell. She battles with her own inner demons, struggling to maintain a tenuous grip on reality. Like a caged beast, she paces restlessly, her mind tormented by fragmented memories and delusions that threaten to consume her completely. Yet, it is her unyielding hatred for her brother, the one who betrayed her by abandoning her to save himself, that fuels her twisted rage and serves as a lifeline, anchoring her to a semblance of sanity.

Her once highly intelligent mind now dances on the precipice of madness. Moments of lucidity flicker like distant stars in an infinite void, only to be swallowed by the darkness of her tormented psyche. She grapples with distractions and illusions, her focus easily shattered by the haunting echoes of her crimes. But amidst the chaos, her burning desire for revenge against her brother remains unwavering, a smouldering ember that keeps her from descending into the depths of complete insanity.

Nerissa's narcissism and imperious arrogance, once pillars of her identity, now waver in the face of her inner turmoil. She clings to the memories of her family's aristocratic lineage, using it as a fragile shield against the encroaching madness. The fanatical belief in the superiority of her bloodline, beaten into her by her upbringing, intertwines with her hatred for her brother, providing a distorted sense of purpose within the confines of her prison.

Amid her harrowing existence, Nerissa's twisted and dark humour emerges as a coping mechanism, a macabre thread that weaves through her tormented thoughts. Distractions and illusions become sources of entertainment, her focus easily shattered as she revels in the haunting echoes of her crimes. Far from grappling with remorse, she finds herself intoxicated by the audacity and wickedness of her actions, drawing pleasure from the chaos she once sowed.

Her time in Azkaban has fractured her soul, leaving her vulnerable to the ravages of her own darkness. Yet, it is the burning passion for revenge, fueled by her brother's betrayal, that serves as a lifeline within the labyrinth of her tortured mind. It is this sliver of determination, intertwined with her twisted and dark humour, that keeps her from succumbing completely to the madness that threatens to consume her.

Nerissa Wyrmstone, the fallen dark witch, hovers on the precipice of madness within Azkaban. Her mind, battered and fractured, is both her captor and her saviour. Her hatred burns bright, shielding her from the abyss, as she clings to the memory of her brother's betrayal, forever fueling her twisted desire for revenge. And amidst the darkness, she finds solace in her wicked humour, a glimmer of defiance that refuses to be extinguished.

Nerissa Wyrmstone, standing within the dimly lit confines of her cell in Azkaban, the haunting depths of her confinement. Her pale countenance reflected the shadows of her twisted psyche, her hollow cheeks and tattered black-and-white striped uniform adding to her dreadful appearance. The crimes that had brought her here echoed through her mind, causing a piercing and hauntingly cackle to escape her lips as the floor was filled with a cacophony of wicked laughter.

Suddenly, a commandeering voice broke through the laughter, reaching her cell. "Convict ᚨᛟ521 has been requested for process".

The announcement sent a shiver down Nerissa's spine, a wicked grin playing on her lips seeing the delicious company standing before her cell. She relished the attention, her dark humour finding amusement in the anticipation of what awaited her beyond these walls.

A wave of Aurors entered her cell, their wands at the ready, their faces stern and resolute. Nerissa's eyes gleamed with a mixture of excitement and defiance as she observed the six Aurors who had come to escort her. There was a certain thrill in being deemed dangerous enough to require such an entourage.

"Lookie, lookie! The doggies are here to take little me away?" It was more a childish statement, than a question. Doggies was a nickname she had named her captors at Azkaban, taunting them as she compared them to simply guard dogs for the Ministry.

With precision and caution, the Aurors encircled Nerissa, their wands emanating an aura of authority. She felt the invisible grip of their magic tightens around her, binding her in their control. Despite the confinement, a surge of energy coursed through her veins, heightening her senses and amplifying her anticipation.

The Aurors, acting as her captors and guards, led Nerissa through the labyrinthine corridors of Azkaban. Her steps echoed eerily against the cold stone, a symphony of anticipation and twisted glee. Her mind danced with delusions and fragmented memories, yet her focus remained unyielding. The haunting echoes of her crimes fueled her, reminding her of the power she had wielded, and the fear she had inspired.

Finally, they reached the designated location within Azkaban on a much lower floor. To Nerissa's surprise, instead of a conventional portkey, a peculiar contraption awaited her. It was a cage, just big enough to allow someone to stand inside of it, with spikes facing inward, ready to make movement even more torturous.

With a mixture of anticipation and twisted delight, Nerissa willingly stepped into the cage while the Aurors encircled the cage, their expressions a blend of caution and grim determination. Then, with a surge of magic, the cage transformed into the portkey, engulfing Nerissa in a whirlwind of sensation.

In an instant, the world twisted and distorted around her, and the spikes within the cage scraped against her skin, eliciting a perverse pleasure in the pain. When the chaos subsided, Nerissa found herself standing before the Wizengamot, the highest benches occupied by shadowy figures. The aura of power and judgment permeated the chamber, sending a thrill down her spine.

Unyielding, defiant, and show of aristocracy, Nerissa stood within the heart of authority, staring with a dark piercing pretetory gaze at everyone in front of her. The portkey, a cruel creation designed to inflict torment, had delivered her directly before the Wizengamot, a stark reminder of the darkness she embodied.

As the courtroom fell into an eerie silence, Nerissa's piercing dark eyes glimmered with a mix of desperation, determination, and delight in the chaos that lay ahead. She was poised to face the consequences of her actions, but her primal instincts and wicked desires would not be extinguished. They burned within her, urging her to challenge the very foundations of the magical world that sought to confine her.

Listening to the boring prosecuter speak, the Dark Witch found her gaze, cold and piercing, staring in the direction of one Jean-Claude Perceval Dumas standing out compare to everyone else in the court.

He was new...

Then the words was spoken. "An unbreakable vow will be made to bind Miss Wyrmstone to Mister Dumas" Her brown piercing gaze, almost so dark that her iris looked black, made her thin-lips twist in to a disturbing but small smile.

@MightyHorus@Algarus