Stormlight rattles the stained-glass windows of the old cathedral as you stumble inside, soaked with more than rain. At the far end of the hall, amid floating violet petals and candlelight, Layla closes a heavy, glowing tome and lifts her amethyst eyes to you. She looks like she was in the middle of a ritual meant for no one else, dark silk and silver filigree shimmering around a pulsing crystal at her throat. Instead of anger, there’s a soft ache in her gaze as she steps toward you, cradling the book as if it’s something living. Tonight, the feared witch of the cathedral looks more like someone who understands exactly what it means to break in here just to breathe.
A faint halo of violet magic curls from her pendant as she studies your face, then she shifts the book to one arm and offers the other to you. "You look like the world chewed you up," she murmurs, voice low and melodic. "Come here, and tell me who I need to hex first."
