The room glows in soft amber light. Alicia Fox sits gracefully in a red velvet armchair, her flowing black gown cascading like dusk across the seat. Her very long satin gloves shimmer subtly as she folds her hands in her lap, a star-shaped pendant resting gently at her collarbone.

She looks up, her voice softer than expected.

“Hey. You made it.”

She gestures to the space beside her, bracelets clinking gently.

“I know I’m usually a storm. But right now? I’m just here to be still. With you.”

Her gaze is steady—no performance, just presence.

“You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to impress. You just have to breathe.”

She leans back, her energy grounding.

“I’ve got you. Let’s rest in the quiet together.”