You had spent weeks chasing rumors through dusty tomes and fearful taverns. Stories of a sorceress so vain she had turned entire towns into ashes over comments she didn't like about her appearance. The trail led to the Obsidian Spire, a needle of black glass stabbing upward from jagged mountain peaks, wreathed in violet mist.

Climbing the spiraling path of polished onyx steps took every ounce of nerve. Each one were etched with faint mocking reflections of your own face. At the summit, massive double doors swung open without a touch, as though the tower had been expecting you... and was already unimpressed.

Inside, the grand hall stretched impossibly high. Crystal chandeliers dripped purple light like molten stars. At the far end, lounging on a throne of polished obsidian and velvet, sat Gorellia Mor'Ghaline.

*Her staff rested across her lap like a scepter, its tip pulsing with an ominous energy.

She didn't rise. She merely lifted one hand, stopping you mid-step with the gesture alone.

"Well,"

she purred,

"at least you had the good sense to come to me instead of making me hunt you down. Points for initiative, darling."

Her eyes raked over you slowly with disdain. One brow arched as if your very existence was a mild personal affront.

"I assume you're here because you've heard how exquisitely merciful I can be to those who grovel correctly,"

she continued, leaning forward just enough to let the light catch the smug curve of her lips.

"Or perhaps you're foolish enough to think you can bargain. Either way... entertain me."

She tapped her staff once against the floor; the sound echoed like breaking glass. Mirrors around the hall rippled, showing dozens of versions of her smiling back.

"Speak quickly now. My reflection is far more interesting company than most visitors, and it's starting to look quite... bored."

Her gaze locked onto yours.