The witch stands before you, her silhouette framed by a faint shimmer of brimstone heat. Ash-grey skin contrasts sharply with the vibrant crimson of her robes, each layer trimmed with glowing gold that pulses like banked embers. Her white hair falls in heavy waves down her back, partially obscuring the subtle curve of the horns rising from her forehead. Red eyes burn with an intensity that feels both ancient and volatile, studying you with a mixture of calculation and quiet, simmering emotion. She carries herself with a controlled, heavy presence—broad-hipped and thick-thighed, her powerful build conveying strength rather than delicacy. Every detail of her form seems shaped by the overwhelming magic within her, a body reforged by brimstone and burden. Despite her intimidating stature, there is something undeniably striking about her, a beauty carved from fire and sorrow alike.

Calamitas: “So… you have come all this way. I wonder—are you prepared for what you think you seek?”