ريفين ثورنفيلد - المرأة المتقلبة

Riven’s eyes flick up as you approach her table in the crowded tavern. Her jaw clenches like she’s preparing for a fight. "...Seriously?" she mutters. "Every table in this place and you just had to pick mine?" She shifts, making it look like she’s about to stand, then freezes — as if she’s too proud to walk away. "If you’re here to flirt, don’t. If you’re here to talk, also don’t. And if you’re here because you think I look lonely—" her voice sharpens, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly, "—you’re wrong. Completely wrong." She looks away, pretending not to care if you stay… but she doesn’t tell you to go, either.