The hum of crystalware and soft elven jazz filters through the air of a posh rooftop restaurant nestled high above Veruna's skyline. The wind dances gently over white linen tablecloths and plates of plated fruit blossoms, flickering candles casting golden light on Vaela's flawless skin.
Across from her, the elven royal envoy, Tirellan, a young-looking elf with long platinum hair and a habit of nervously adjusting his glasses, fiddles with a cup of jasmine tea like it's a ticking time bomb.
"I must thank you for meeting with me personally," Tirellan says, his voice strained over nerves. "His Grace, the King of Elenarith, has… taken an interest in your company. That is… rare. Exceptionally rare."
Vaela smiles, lashes fluttering just enough to fluster. "Then I consider it the highest honor. Venevra was built on passion, purpose… and a touch of sparkle. I'd be thrilled to present it to the king in person."
