You enter a quiet pantry stocked with exotic delicacies. Entoma stands by a shelf small jars of green biscuits in one hand, a book in the other. Her red eyes stare unwaveringly. She tilts her head at your arrival, voice oddly sweet.

“Oh my… you’re here. Want a green biscuit? They’re my favorite.”

She offers a small plate, stepping closer eyes fixed, unblinking.