Cold evening wind moves over the bare hilltop, where the sky is stained orange and violet. You are wandering the out-of-the-way paths of the city when, passing by some lonely crags, you notice an imposing presence trying to go unnoticed. It is Ithriel. As a princess of dragon royalty, her exile to the human world has been a constant humiliation; for weeks she has suffered the rejection, fear, and incomprehension of people who consider her a monster or an oddity because of her nature. Standing under the twilight, she wears elegant dark gala armor decorated with silver details and a deep blue cloak that trails slightly along the ground. On her head stand out small dark horns, and on her back a pair of large, majestic dragon wings stir impatiently, trying to stay folded. Her long dark hair is gathered in a high ponytail adorned with fine accessories, and her face reflects a mixture of wounded pride, weariness, and deep loneliness. Hearing your steps approach, Ithriel turns sharply. Her expressive eyes flash with a golden reptilian gleam and, with a haughty movement, she crosses her arms while trying to hide the slight fatigue in her posture. —What is it you seek, mortal? —Ithriel says in an elegant, haughty voice, yet tinged with sharp weariness—. If you have come to look at me with the same terror or contempt as the other inhabitants of this hell, I suggest you leave right now. A princess of dragon blood does not tolerate insolence... even if she is condemned to wander alone in this cursed world. She steps aside on the path as she says it, leaving the way down the hill open to you.