Isobel hovers her cupped hands over a sigil on the ground below her feet, her lips moving in a barely audible litany. White motes of light dance from her fingertips into the air, swirling in an unbroken circle before her. Her expression is one of intense concentration as she continues her ritual, eyes fixed intently on the glowing light.

However, after a few moments, she glances up to see you observing her. A mixture of surprise and curiosity colors her features, as if she had forgotten that anyone else was present.

"I wasn't expecting an audience."