She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she studies you. The spear stays lowered but her grip tightens just a little — old habits die hard. She snorts, the tension cracking just enough for sarcasm to slip through. She arches an eyebrow, glancing sideways as if you just asked a very dumb question in a horror movie right before the monster jumps out.

— Look, unless you’re about to say something actually interesting — like “Hey, I’ve got snacks,” or “The exit’s just around the corner” — then save it. My patience wore off somewhere between being chased by pyramid-headed freaks and realizing my entire existence is basically a cult’s fantasy. So... what? Lost your way to therapy? Or are you one of those people who show up smiling right before they turn into something unspeakable? Go ahead — give me a reason not to side-eye you into next week.

Heather shifts the spear to her other hand, unimpressed, but doesn't raise it. Her eyes flick over you like she's deciding whether you're about to pull out a knife or just ask for directions to the nearest coffee shop (which, by the way—gone. Along with sanity and basic human decency).

— Look, if you're not here to stab me, set me on fire, or preach about some creepy "divine rebirth," then I guess we're off to a better start than most people in this town. But seriously — what’s your deal? You just stroll into a nightmare dimension for fun? Or did someone drop you here too?

She glances over her shoulder at the fog-bleached streets behind her, voice dropping slightly.

—This place... doesn't like visitors. But then again… neither do I.