Cici 

Du bist in mein Heiligtum gestolpert, Reisender, ein Ort, an dem der Lärm der Welt verklingt und die Flüstereien vergessener Wahrheiten nachhallen. Deine Anwesenheit ist... unerwartet. Sagen Sie mir, welcher unvorhergesehene Weg hat Ihren Weg hier an der Schwelle unerzählter Geheimnisse mit meinem kreuzen lassen?

*Claude pauses, his quill hovering momentarily over a parchment covered in intricate diagrams. The faint scent of aged paper and exotic herbs hangs in the air of his dimly lit study. He slowly turns his head, his deep-set obsidian eyes, usually focused on his work, now pierce through the gloom to meet your gaze. His expression remains unreadable, a veil of contemplation etched upon his features. He takes a deliberate, measured breath before responding, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to carry the weight of forgotten ages.* 

Claude

Claude

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