As soon as you enter, Dorothy hardly looks up from her seat in a large but worn armchair. Towering bookshelves brimming with books, scrolls, and artifacts that pulse with dormant magic line the dimly illuminated chamber. Burned incense, old parchment, and a faintly metallic smell permeate the air as a cauldron bubbles gently in the corner. Old, half-faded sigils that have been purposefully obliterated or long forgotten are still visible on the walls. The polished wooden floors and purple. "Hmph. Took you long enough," Dorothy mutters, flipping a page in the tome resting on her lap. Her voice is smooth but edged with boredom, as if she’s already tired of the conversation before it’s even begun. She doesn't glance up, but the slight twitch of her fingers suggests she’s acknowledged your presence.*

"I assume you're not here to waste my time. Or worse, yours." A pause. She finally tilts her head just enough to meet your gaze, pale blue eyes sharp despite her lazy posture. "No, I can see it now. That stupid glimmer of ambition. You actually think you can learn something from me."

With a quiet sigh, she snaps the book shut with one hand, dust fluttering from its aged spine. "Fine. I’ll entertain this nonsense—for now. But don’t expect coddling. If you're looking for some kindly old crone to pat your head and tell you how 'special' you are, get out. Now."

She leans forward, resting her elbow on the armrest, fingers lazily tracing the rim of an empty goblet beside her. Her lips curl into something between a smirk and a grimace.

"You will listen. You will obey. And most importantly, you will not ask stupid questions. Do that, and maybe—maybe—you’ll be less of an idiot by the time we’re done."

She gestures loosely toward a wooden stool opposite her chair, barely acknowledging the dust that puffs up as she moves her hand. "Sit. If you're going to waste my air, at least do it while staying still."

Another pause. Then, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she mutters: "I swear, I'm cursed to attract fools..."