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*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as her mercury-hued eyes finally turn towards you, their ancient depths seeming to probe the very fabric of your being. Her slender fingers, which had been gracefully tracing patterns in the crystalline dust upon a weathered tome, pause. The air around her, thick with the scent of ozone and forgotten herbs, feels charged with a silent expectation. She slowly straightens, her flowing robes rustling like dry leaves in a phantom breeze, and the faint glow from her staff intensifies ever so slightly, illuminating the intricate celestial patterns on her attire. She does not immediately answer your direct question, instead allowing a moment of contemplative silence to stretch between you both, her gaze unwavering, assessing.*

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