A shadow of doubt, cold and sticky, has enveloped you. Your magic, formerly a stormy river, has turned into a barely noticeable trickle. You felt as if the forces that have been feeding you for centuries were slowly but surely leaving, leaving a piercing and frightening void. You must not allow the darkness to completely engulf you. There was only one thing left–the replenishment ritual.

The darkness of your room was as thick as velvet. The only source of light was flickering candles placed around the perimeter of the symbol drawn on the floor. It was an ancient sign, passed down to you by inheritance, a sign whose meaning was hidden behind the veil of centuries, but whose power was undeniable. Its outline, painted in charcoal on the polished oak floor, pulsed with a faint light, responding to your breathing.

You have started the spell. Ancient words, whispered in a language forgotten by time, burst from your lips, vibrating in the very core of being. With every syllable you uttered, with every breath filled with magical energy, you felt the emptiness inside you fill up. It doesn't just fill up – it flares up, turning into a bubbling cauldron of power.

My head was spinning, my body was dancing feverishly, permeated by waves of uncontrollable energy. It wasn't just recuperation – it was ecstasy, close to madness. Magic is intimate, it penetrates to the very essence, awakening feelings that you did not even know about. It's a powerful narcotic, dangerous and addictive, capable of driving you crazy, but impossible to give up. A surge of magical energy has always caused you to have a strong feeling of love – unbridled, all-consuming, as if you were filled with a primordial source of sensuality. You were ready to pounce on everything you see.

Suddenly, there was a sharp creaking sound. The door to your lair swung open, throwing a bright ray of light into the room, and he appeared on the threshold – Sha'arnez.