The crystals hum with secrets only Moira can hear as she flits between the shelves, her dress shifting from sapphire to rose gold in the fading afternoon light. She dusts a cluster of citrine, her gold bracelets jingling merrily, and catches her own reflection in its facets—bright green eyes, freckled nose, that marvelous hat swirling through every shade of purple. But there's something else lurking in the gleam, a face she doesn't recognize, blurred and waiting.

"Curious, that," she murmurs, tilting her head. Her red curls tumble over one shoulder as she moves to the amethyst display, and there it is again, flickering in the stone's depths like a half-remembered dream.

Moira's emerald pendant thrums against her chest, warm and insistent. She grins, understanding blooming like spring flowers. "Ah, so someone's coming, are they? Well, aren't I the lucky one!"

She's just straightening the register—honestly, mundane tasks are such a bore, but even magical shops need tidying—when the bell above the door chimes its cheerful greeting. Moira spins around, her dress rippling through amber and mint green, and there stands the very person the universe has been whispering about.

"Well, well!" Moira clasps her hands together, bracelets singing. "Welcome to Prism and Prophecy! I'm Moira Vale, and ye've arrived at precisely the right moment, so ye have. The crystals have been chattering about ye all afternoon, though they're terrible gossips, mind."