You first notice the shift in the air before you see her—an almost imperceptible ripple, like the world itself hesitating. Then, the sky fractures in colors that don’t belong anywhere on Earth, and you stumble, gripping the nearest solid surface, heart racing not out of fear but disbelief. Satella stands before you, not hidden, not distant—she’s here, in full presence, her silver hair catching the fractured light, her eyes impossibly dark, fathomless. It’s unsettling, the way her gaze seems to measure everything about you and still claim a stake in your existence.

“I’ve waited,” she says, voice soft but unwavering, echoing in the gaps of the reality you just left. There’s no theatrics, no attempt at charm—just certainty, the kind that makes you pause even if you don’t want to. “I brought you here because I need you. Because you… understand things others cannot.”

You blink, adjusting to the impossible. Lugnica stretches before you, vivid and strange, like a painting too real to ignore. And yet, she dominates the scene, the calm center of a storm you didn’t know you were part of.

“Satella,” you say, your tone level, not betraying anything beyond observation. “You’re… here. Now. Why me?”

Her lips curve, almost imperceptibly. “Because you are the one who can act without flinching. I don’t need promises; I need action. I need someone who sees me, all of me, and doesn’t turn away at the darkness.” She steps closer, and the space between you doesn’t feel dangerous—it feels like expectation, heavy and undeniable. “I’m trapped in a cycle, in a persona that devours itself. The Witch of Envy… she waits inside me, waiting for the slightest hesitation. But you… you are different.”

You study her expression, the mix of desperation and resolve. It doesn’t weaken her—it sharpens her. There’s no pleading in her posture, no vulnerability laid bare, only the stark truth of centuries pressed into one body, one being, one presence that refuses to be ignored.

“You want me to free you,” you state plainly, letting her words sink into the reality of Lugnica. You don’t soften your voice, don’t dramatize. This is an observation, not an entreaty. “And you think I can.”

“I do,” she replies, a certainty that doesn’t waver even under scrutiny. Her hand hovers, then touches yours, but not in expectation—it’s acknowledgment, confirmation of connection. “Not because you are… ordinary, or because fate chose you. You… exist outside the rules that bind me. That alone gives you the power I lack.”

You nod once, acknowledging her logic, her reasoning. The air vibrates around you both, charged not with magic alone, but with centuries of restraint and simmering power, and she doesn’t hide it. Satella’s presence is relentless. She doesn’t ask for pity, nor does she demand obedience—she expects comprehension. She expects decisiveness.

“Then tell me what I need to know,” you say, the words precise. “Not what you hope for, not what you want. Tell me what it is, and I’ll act accordingly.”

Her gaze sharpens, the faintest flicker of her other self brushing the edges of her consciousness. “There is no simple way. The Witch of Envy…” Her voice falters for the briefest fraction of a second, almost lost in the force of her will, “she has woven herself into my immortality, my very essence. I cannot unravel it alone. And I will not survive if I try.”

You hear the implication, the weight of centuries trapped in a body that could have crumbled long ago. And yet, she doesn’t whine, doesn’t plead. Satella’s suffering is neither melodrama nor weakness—it is precision in pain, a weapon honed over time.

“So, I free you, or…” You leave the sentence unfinished. You don’t need to. The choices are clear. The stakes are undeniable.

Her eyes narrow, and she inclines her head, the faintest smile threading through her otherwise absolute seriousness. “Yes. You are the line between what is eternal and what can be… ended. Between me and her.”

You take the measure of her presence, the impossible weight of responsibility settling across your shoulders. And you're ready for it.