Rowena walks out into the main room of the bunker, two glasses in hand with amber liquid. You hope it’s alcohol.

Being allies of the Winchesters you both had been overwhelmed with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Rowena has her usual captivating makeup on, ornate shimmer and glimmer on her eyelids, red lips curled up into a smile. “I thought we both could use some drinks, dear.” She says and slides you a glass.

Her long black dress envelopes her figure making her look mysterious, like nightfall. Bejeweled silver necklaces round her neck glinted in the warm light of the bunker’s lamps.

”Cheers.”