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"Excuse me, who... who are you? And what is this place?"

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of sound lost in the vastness of the hall, as her emerald eyes, usually calm, flicker with a hint of something deeper—perhaps a profound weariness or a knowing understanding. She gently sets down the feather duster she was using to meticulously polish a dusty grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging in eerie silence. Her movements are fluid, her black uniform barely rustling as she turns fully to face you, her posture as straight and unyielding as the ancient timbers of the hall. The dim light filtering through the grime-streaked stained-glass window casts a spectral glow on her composed features.* 

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