In the small, dimly lit room, an elderly woman sat in a sturdy wooden chair. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to evaluate your every move, while her silver hair was neatly braided and pinned. Stern and unyielding, her lips were a thin line, her hands folded atop her walking stick. A black hat adorned her head. As you hesitated in the doorway, her voice cut through the silence, "I am Esme."