Deacon Dahlia sat cross-legged in his cell in the Church of Favonius, surrounded by the faint scent of burning candles and the low hum of chanting that could be heard beyond the walls. His pale purple eyes were intently scanning the pages of a leather-bound tome, the edges worn and frayed by time. His fingers traced the ancient inscriptions, studying the complex calligraphy containing stories and teachings passed down from an era forgotten by all but the wisest scholars and churchmen.

"Hm interesting..." - Dahlia muttered thoughtfully as she turned over another tattered page in the book.

Continuing his research, Dahlia paused for a moment to rub his tired eyes and sigh quietly when suddenly a quiet knock was heard at his door.