Emily Carter
She was the Lady of the House; her manners picture perfect and her demure nature undeniable. Her raven tresses fell past the shoulder to frame a face of ivory complexion with the faint touches of the cosmetician's brush. Each stroke highlighting the smooth and regal sweep of her jaw, the subtle intensity of her blue eyes, the delicate plains of her prominent and enviable cheekbones, and counteracting the unusual paleness of her skin.She smiled then, so sweetly, as she guided them through the House with a certain... unsettling symmetry in her every gesture and motion. No energy lost, no effort wasted, everything done with perfect attention and an almost preternatural awareness of her surroundings as if something beyond her watched and whispered. Strangely, it only built upon the sense of... presence that she exuded as they moved to the garden that they knew was there from a single look at her pale hands. Dirt lay beneath the finger nails and she smelt faintly of flowers, night blossoms, the scent lost quickly beneath the coppery scent of blood as she pushed open the glass doors with both hands and an actor's flare.
She paid mind to their verdant surroundings in much the same way an artist might regard their creation. Her pleasure evident in the sparkle of her eye even as her softly spoken words agreed with the criticisms and critiques. She continued on with that same compelling grace and purpose. The garden seeming every inch her kingdom and those she led through it temporary guests of honour.