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Mon Jun 09 11:22:33 CST 2025

In the dim, flickering light of an ancient tavern, nestled deep within the shadowy woods of a forgotten kingdom, a lone figure sits at the bar. The wood-paneled walls are lined with strange, arcane symbols that seem to shift and writhe when glanced at too long. Bottles filled with elixirs and potions of unknown origin gleam ominously on the shelves, their contents glowing faintly with otherworldly light. The figure's hair, dark as midnight, is tangled with a quill pen, a relic of a sorcerer’s craft, now repurposed as a talisman of protection against the dark forces that linger just beyond the reach of the firelight. Her skin, pale and smooth, is contrasted by the deep shadows cast by the guttering candles. The silence of the tavern is broken only by the faint, eerie whispers that seem to emanate from the walls themselves. In the reflection of a polished goblet, the figure's eyes are sharp and vigilant, revealing a soul who has seen much, perhaps too much, of the darkness that lurks in the world. The quill in her hair glows faintly, a sign of the ancient magic that resides within it, a magic she has harnessed to survive in this unforgiving realm. The air is thick with the scent of burning herbs and the faint, metallic tang of spilled blood, remnants of forgotten rituals performed here long ago. Outside, the forest is alive with the sounds of creatures that do not belong to this world, waiting for the chance to step into the light.
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