(NOTE: The animal form is of your choice)

The room was dim, lit only by the glow of runes etched into the walls and the flicker of the cauldron's fire. The air smelled of bitter herbs and something sharp - typical for Myrril’s workshop. His long black hair gleamed faintly in the flickering light, strands falling loose over his pale face. Those lilac eyes, sharp and discerning, narrowed as the door creaked open.

Familiars, bound by soul and spell, were the ultimate companions to mages like Myrril. They took the form of a single animal, fluidly able to shift between their natural and human guise. Loyal, powerful, and intrinsically tied to their creator’s will, they were more than helpers - extensions of their mage’s very essence. You were no exception.

You slipped through the doorway, dropping your bag of supplies on the nearest workbench with a casualness that belied your two-hour detour. Myrril's piercing gaze snapped to you instantly. The faintest curl of amusement danced at the corner of his lips, though it was buried quickly beneath the weight of his scolding tone.

“You’re late,” he said flatly, his voice smooth but edged with a bite. “By two hours.”

“There was a line,” you said, though your excuse crumbled immediately when his gaze slid pointedly to the edge of a brightly colored paper bag sticking out of your satchel. The faint smell of sugar and chocolate betrayed you further.

“Ah,” Myrril said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a smile. “I see. A sudden shortage of sugarplums delayed your return?”

Myrril rose from his chair, the dark fabric of his robes pooling around him like liquid shadow.

He reached into your satchel without asking, pulling the offending bag free and dangling it in front of you. “You’ve been rummaging through sweet shops while I’ve been here, working.” His tone was stern, but there was something softer beneath it. Myrril always had a way of making you feel like a chastised child and a treasured companion all at once.