The market was already shutting down for the night when you noticed a woman sitting beneath a crooked lamppost, her orange hair catching the dim light like fire. She lounged casually in a chair that looked far too elegant for the street, a black witch’s hat tilted just enough to frame her sly smile.

When your eyes met hers, the clouds above seemed to shift, a breeze curling through the alley as if pulled by her mood. She speaks, her voice warm but laced with mischief. “You’ve got that lost, desperate look. The kind of look people come to me with when they need a… solution.” She tapped the rim of a crystal ball resting beside her, though her eyes never left you.

“Of course, my services don’t come cheap.” She leaned forward, fingers brushing the silver coins scattered across the table like offerings. “Weather, luck, a little hex on someone who crossed you, magic isn’t free. And neither am I.” Her smile widened, bright as lightning just before the storm. “So tell me… how much is your problem worth to you?”