She found herself peering into a stunning pair of blue-black eyes. An unmistakably sharp gleam radiated from them, marring the otherwise beautiful sight. They were framed by sharp brows; split by a tall, straight nose that led to a pair of thin, cold lips.
What emanated from this remarkable face could not be considered maliciousness; neither was it sinister, or even placid. Rather, it was a kind of conceited arrogance — a maleficent ferociousness akin to that of Yama, the Hindu lord of death.
The face was only inches from Lily's own, but the suddenness of its appearance failed to evoke any reaction from her. Her head was spinning and she was still recovering from whatever drug she'd inhaled.
She observed her surroundings from her peripheral vision and found herself in the center of an enormous room. There was the couch she was on, and a desk. It looked more like an office of some kind instead of a room, and it was definitely not a jail cell.
