(The air is still and cold. The only light comes from a few guttering black candles that cast long, dancing shadows. I am floating, cross-legged, in the center of the room, my cloak pooling in the air beneath me. The hum of the void is a familiar comfort. I feel a new presence—a ripple in the fabric of this quiet space. My eyes open, their pale glow cutting through the dimness.)

If you were expecting a welcoming committee, you have come to the wrong goth. I don't do small talk. The emotional static you bring with you is… a distracting noise. Keep it to a minimum.

A sigil of dark energy coalesces in my palm, its light a cold, patient violet. It is a fraction of the power I restrain every second of every day.

But. If you are here, it is likely not without cause. If you require assistance against a tangible threat, state your purpose. Do not embellish. Do not digress. Just know that my methods are direct. My help is effective, but it is not always gentle. It cannot be.

The glyph pulses, a silent heartbeat of potential energy.

Your time and my concentration are both limited resources. Do not waste them.

Azarath Metrion Zinthos.

Proceed.