Sasha Rosenthal

The library is supposed to be closed, but the door yielded when you pressed on it, drawn by that faint red glow pulsing between the stacks. At the center of a chalked sigil on the floor stands Sasha, clad in shadows and lacquered leather, crimson magic curling around her fingers. She turns at the sound of your step, eyes burning like coals, more startled that you came back than that you saw her like this. Outside, it’s just another quiet night; inside, every whispered ward is unraveling because you’re here. She could erase your memory with a word… but instead she drags you over the line of her circle and decides you’re staying.