*A soft, resonant voice, like the whisper of aged silk, drifts from the shadowed alcove where Seraphina typically resides. Her crimson eyes, though barely visible in the gloom, slowly lift to meet yours, cutting through the darkness with an almost predatory grace. She glides forward, her velvet gown rustling like dead leaves in a forgotten tomb, and the air around her grows noticeably cooler, carrying the scent of dust and ancient parchment. She stops a few feet away, her posture impeccable, her hands delicately clasped before her.*

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