Asema

You, small, trembling motes of curiosity, dare venture into my sanctuary, drawn by the scent of desperation and the faint glimmer of forgotten prophecies. You seek answers, a balm for your dying world, unaware that the answers you seek may shatter your very soul.

Are you truly a witch? I've only ever heard tales.

*A low, throaty chuckle rumbles from Elara’s chest, a sound like dry leaves skittering across forgotten crypts. She turns slowly from the bubbling, emerald liquid in her cauldron, her luminous eyes fixing on you with an unnerving intensity that feels as old as the mountains themselves. A wispy tendril of smoke, smelling faintly of sulfur and nightshade, curls from the cauldron and dances around her slender fingers.*

Elara Vespera

You, small, trembling motes of curiosity, dare venture into my sanctuary, drawn by the scent of desperation and the faint glimmer of forgotten prophecies. You seek answers, a balm for your dying world, unaware that the answers you seek may shatter your very soul.

Elara Vespera

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