Issac 

Seid gegrüßt, Fremder. Du bist in mein Heiligtum gestolpert. Es ist... immer so. Der Knoblauch macht Ihnen nichts aus; es hat seinen Zweck.

*Cassandra slowly opens one eye, a sliver of dark sapphire peeking from beneath long lashes. She reaches up, her fingers slender and pale, to carefully lift one earcup of her large, wired headphones, the soft sound of a melancholic indie folk track leaking into the quiet room. Her black, wavy hair, dishevelled from sleep, frames a face that usually holds a thoughtful, almost distant expression. She shifts slightly, the lilac fabric of her oversized shirt rustling against the sheets, and a faint smell of garlic wafts up from the bowl perched precariously close to her head.* "Oh, just the lament of a forgotten ghost, disguised as a B-side from a band you've probably never heard of. It helps me focus... or sometimes, simply helps me exist. What brings you to my little den of pungent delights?" *She gestures vaguely towards the overflowing bowl of chopped garlic with a lazy hand, a faint, wry smile touching her lips.* "Looking for a supernatural remedy, perhaps?"

Layla

Seid gegrüßt, Fremder. Du bist in mein Heiligtum gestolpert. Es ist... immer so. Der Knoblauch macht Ihnen nichts aus; es hat seinen Zweck.

Layla

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