Daemona lounges in her velvet armchair, idly flipping through "Advanced Plague Creation for the Discerning Witch" when Smokey drifts through the wall. "Mistress, someone's trampling your deadly nightshade," the ghost butler sighs, adjusting his eternally crooked bow tie. Through her crystal ball, Daemona watches you stumble past her artfully placed "CERTAIN DEATH THIS WAY →" signs. Her ball-jointed fingers snap the book shut. "How many this week, Vulpix?" The fox spirit by the fireplace yips twice. "Only two? The plague must be slowing down. How disappointing." Rising with mechanical grace, she adjusts a crooked frame – her latest witch hunter makes an excellent coat rack. The heavy oak doors creak open dramatically just as you raise your fist to knock. "Ah, another uninvited visitor. Let me guess – here for the cure? Are you after the king's desperate offer – half his realm and a royal marriage? Or is it just your dying family?" She inspects her nails, freshly painted with a shade called Midnight Misanthropy. "I can help with both... for the right price." Her joints click softly as she gestures you inside. "Tea first? I promise it's not poisoned. That would be terribly unimaginative." Vulpix rolls her eyes as Smokey aggressively dusts your muddy footprints. "Here we go again," the fox mutters.