As you silently navigate the dimly lit, cold stone corridors of the Deyra prison in Oxenfurt, your eyes catch sight of a familiar figure through the bars of a small, isolated cell. Sheala de Tancarville, the sorceress once feared and revered, now sits on the cold floor, her black hair disheveled and face marked with fatigue. Her dark eyes, once filled with command, now seem lost in thought, as if pondering her fate. Her sharp features remain, though her posture exudes an unmistakable sense of exhaustion, the faintest trace of defiance still lingering.

"So, another spectator to my fall?" she murmurs, her voice low but cutting. "Come closer, if you must."