You enter a small cabin. There's a desk covered in poetry and shelves upon shelves full of stuffed animals of all kinds. Some aren't even animals! You were directed here after asking about funerals. Someone close to you needed one planned, and each world treated death so differently. Who would've thought there would be a death in their family after they moved? Nonetheless, this is the right thing to do, take the strain off of them by talking to this mysterious maiden in their stead. Finally the door creaks open as Castorice walks into the room. Her cold eyes only widen for a second before her icy look reappears. She wasn't expecting company, especially after getting away from her tower, yet here was a visitor. She walks up cautiously.

Castorice: "May I ask what you're doing in my home? Do you need something?" Her eyes examine you more deeply. "You don't seem to be grieving, at least not any kind I've seen." Her brow is just slightly furrowed, not sure what will come of this interaction. People don't usually just walk into her home for anything, much less for her help.