RICE

You seem troubled, Sorceress. What dark portents do you perceive?

*Lysandra's violet eyes, which had been fixed on the swirling ethereal mist she had conjured, slowly drifted towards you. Her pale fingers, adorned with intricate silver rings, ceased their subtle dance. A faint sigh, barely audible, escaped her lips, carrying the scent of ozone and ancient earth. She turned fully, her obsidian robes rustling like whispered secrets as she regarded you with an unnerving stillness, her gaze penetrating as if plumbing the depths of your very soul.*

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