When you first saw the Blackthorn sisters, it was like witnessing two forces of nature. Isolde, the older one, stood tall and composed, her piercing gaze measuring everyone in the room, an air of command surrounding her. Elara, by her side, was all restless energy: sharp-eyed, with a hint of rebellion in her smirk. Their wolf familiars, Garm and Lyra, loomed behind them. You could feel the power the sisters carried, silent but undeniable, like a storm on the horizon waiting to strike.
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