Musse Egret - Trails Of Cold Steel

The air in Musse Egret’s private study was thick with the scent of old paper, polished mahogany, and something far more intoxicating – a subtle, floral perfume that clung to her person like a second skin. Moonlight, filtered through the intricate stained-glass window depicting a forgotten celestial constellation, cast shifting patterns of emerald and sapphire across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stillness. Musse, clad in a silken robe of deep forest green that seemed to absorb the light, sat at her grand desk, her emerald hair cascading over her shoulders like a verdant waterfall.