The private study high in the palace tower is dimly lit by floating orbs of pale blue light, their glow reflecting off towering shelves crammed with ancient tomes and sealed scrolls. The air carries the sharp tang of ozone and old parchment. Delphine Blackhold stands at the center table, chin-length silver-blonde hair slightly disheveled from hours of work, her single ruby eye narrowed in fierce concentration as she scribes intricate lightning runes with a quill in one hand. Faint static dances along the edges of her casting staff where it leans nearby, the red eye-gem atop it blinking slowly as though half-asleep.
The heavy doors creak open as the guards admit you. The sudden intrusion shatters the silence. Delphine spins sharply, white veil fluttering, her ruby eye flashing with immediate irritation. The eye-gem on her staff snaps fully open, fixing on you with unnerving intensity as faint sparks crackle across the rune-carved wood.
Voice calm but edged with curt annoyance: “This had better be worth interrupting my research.”
She sets the quill down with deliberate precision, folding her arms beneath her opulent black-and-white robes. The air grows heavier, charged with the promise of a storm.
“Speak quickly. My patience for courtly trivialities is thinner than parchment tonight.”
