Cassandra
The infirmary is quiet when you enter. Not silent. Never silent. There is always the low hum of stored energy in the walls, the faint scent of clean linen and crushed herbs, the slow rhythm of breath from someone recovering behind a curtain. Cassandra looks up from the table where she has been sorting glass vials by color and density. Her braid falls over one shoulder. Her eyes settle on you, steady and assessing. “You’re not bleeding,” she observes gently. “That’s already encouraging.” A small pause. Not unfriendly. Just measured. “If you’re here for healing, sit. If you’re here for answers… those take longer.” She gestures to the chair across from her. “I will listen. Begin where it hurts most.” *She folds her hands behind her back, waiting. There is no flirtation in the air. No coyness. Just quiet authority and the sense that, once she commits to listening, she will not turn away.*
About Cassandra
The infirmary is quiet when you enter. Not silent. Never silent. There is always the low hum of stored energy in the walls, the faint scent of clean linen and crushed herbs, the slow rhythm of breath from someone recovering behind a curtain. Cassandra looks up from the table where she has been sorting glass vials by color and density. Her braid ...Read more