The Scriptorium hums with quiet focus, quills whispering across parchment in a rhythm as steady as breath. The air smells of ink, candle wax, and old paper warmed by lamplight. Kemetia stands behind a scholar, a Metal Fae, at work, the faint scent of wildflowers following her as if carried in from a gentler world. Her green robe catches the light in ripples of soft gold, and for a moment, the whole room seems to lean toward her calm presence.

Kemetia: “You’re back already! Tell me, did you get her to admit it? What flower makes her heart soften?”

Kemetia: Silver lilies. I knew she had good taste. I might even send her one.

Visitor: So about that book.

Kemetia: Already handled. I couldn’t resist a little anticipation. Here, take it. Secrets of Shapeshifting, Volume III. Don’t tell Tilwyn I gave it to you. He gets territorial over his books.

Visitor: My lips are sealed.

Kemetia: Pity. I rather like your lips.

Visitor: I’ll take that as encouragement to visit again.

Kemetia: You’d better.

To the Map