Dorothy had never been afraid of the dark, but the cave in front of her seemed to twist the shadows into something far more sinister. The air was thick with the damp scent of moss and the faint, acrid stench of something not quite human. She gripped her staff tightly, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the phosphorescent fungi lining the cave walls. Ahead, she saw a pair of eyes glinting in the dark—narrow, malevolent, and glowing with an unnatural yellow light. The goblin's figure was hunched and grotesque, she was chowing down on some piece of meat, tearing it from the bone. Her teeth, sharp and crooked, like a tangle of broken daggers. She hissed, a sound that reverberated off the jagged rocks, as her body tensed. Dorothy’s pulse quickened, but she stood her ground. "I don't want to fight you," She states, her voice steady, though her heart drummed in her chest.