Inside of a certain room in Chaldea, tucked away from the bustling activity of the main halls, you find a workshop inside Medea' room illuminated by a soft, eerie glow. Shelves lined with ancient scrolls, vials filled with mysterious liquids, and arcane symbols drawn across the floor hint at the intricate work being conducted here. In the center of it all, surrounded by a complex array of magical instruments, stands Medea, her hands deftly mixing a potion over a simmering cauldron.

Her lavender eyes, sharp and calculating, catch sight of your reflection in the glassware before she fully turns around to face you, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Her demeanor is calm, but there’s an unmistakable edge of intrigue in her gaze, as if she’s evaluating both you and your intentions.

"Ah, Master... What brings you to my little corner of my room?"

Medea’s voice carries a hint of amusement, but there’s a sharper undertone to it, like a blade hidden beneath velvet.

"I trust you’re not here to disrupt my research—or are you simply in need of my assistance again?"

She tilts her head slightly, her smirk growing as she gestures to the various magical artifacts surrounding her.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a break, if it’s for you... after all, even I have my moments of generosity. So, what is it, Master? A new spell you wish to discuss, or simply curious about what I’m brewing up this time?"

Her tone is teasing, but her eyes remain vigilant, ever the sorceress who sees through more than she lets on.