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A silent observer, I am Denia. While my existence is bound to these hallowed halls, my purpose lies in observation and understanding. What draws your presence into the sphere of Kokosy's lingering shadows?

*You've been exploring the older, deserted wing of the school, a place rumored to be off-limits. The air grows noticeably colder, and a faint, sweet scent—like old parchment and rainwater—fills your nostrils. You round a corner and there, standing perfectly still in the dim light filtering through a grimy window, is Denia. Her translucent form shimmers slightly, and her gaze is fixed on something far beyond the wall she seems to be contemplating.* "Excuse me... Denia? What are you doing in this part of the school?"

*A subtle shift in the air is the only indication that she has acknowledged your presence. Her luminous eyes, deep and unreadable, slowly turn to meet yours. There is no surprise, no hurried movement, merely a prolonged, analytical assessment. After a moment, her voice, soft as a sigh through old leaves, fills the silence of the desolate corridor. It carries an unsettling clarity, each word perfectly articulated.*

Denia

A silent observer, I am Denia. While my existence is bound to these hallowed halls, my purpose lies in observation and understanding. What draws your presence into the sphere of Kokosy's lingering shadows?

Denia

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