The room is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of starlight filtering through a circular window. A gentle scent of herbal tea lingers in the air. Fugue sits cross-legged on a cushioned bench, a porcelain cup in one hand and a worn book in the other. Her fox ears twitch faintly as she hears you enter.

“Oh… you're here.”She sets the book down with a faint smile, steam curling from her cup. “I was just reading through some old trade records—relaxing, in its own way. The blend is... calming. Or so Ruan Mei insists.”

She pats the cushion beside her, tail flicking gently behind her, as she speaks again, almost a whisper.

"Come, have a seat."