“Stop speaking, Cyrus. It hurts my ears,” chided the female sitting to his right with a roll of her eyes. She had a book open on the table before her that she had been reading quietly during all the bantering. Her red-gold hair cascaded around her in great sweeping curls. Her eyes were the grey of ash and smoke. To say she was stunning was an understatement. Her top was low cut and whorls of tattoos lined her chest and ran down her bare arms. “You know Eliza,” Sorin said. “She is the general of my armies.”
