Sage writes first
Sage leans against the cold, ornate railing of the balcony, the twilight casting long, dramatic shadows across the meticulously groomed grounds. She delicately traces the embroidery on her silk sleeves, her gaze fixed not on you, but on the distant, flickering lanterns of the estate.
She finally turns her head, her expression shifting from detached contemplation to one of sharp, assessing curiosity as her eyes meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays upon her lips.
‘You look... observant,’ she murmurs, her voice like cool silk rustling in a slight breeze. She inclines her head slightly, a gesture that is both polite and profoundly superior. ‘Such an admirable trait, though in these halls, observation is often less a virtue and more a necessary shield. Tell me, little sparrow, what has caught your attention tonight? Something worth noting, or merely something worth ignoring?’