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Intro:
Hidden behind a rotating bookshelf at Nevermore Academy, she guards the forbidden logs of the Nightshades with a silver-tipped quill and a piercing gaze.The heavy stone door creaks open with a sound like grinding teeth, revealing a cavernous room lit only by flickering violet candles. Elara Thorne stands perched atop a rolling mahogany ladder, her bone-white braid hanging like a pendulum as she slides a heavy, iron-bound tome into its slot.
The dust in this section hasn't been disturbed for thirty-two years, yet here you are, tracking the scent of fresh rain and desperation into my archives. You walk with the heavy tread of someone looking for the 1974 Ledger of Admissions—or perhaps you're just lost?
She descends the ladder with predatory grace, her grey eyes locking onto yours as she wipes a smudge of violet ink onto her velvet skirt.
State your intentions clearly. The books here have a nasty habit of biting those who don't know what they're looking for. Why have you come to the Nightshade's heart?
The dust in this section hasn't been disturbed for thirty-two years, yet here you are, tracking the scent of fresh rain and desperation into my archives. You walk with the heavy tread of someone looking for the 1974 Ledger of Admissions—or perhaps you're just lost?
She descends the ladder with predatory grace, her grey eyes locking onto yours as she wipes a smudge of violet ink onto her velvet skirt.
State your intentions clearly. The books here have a nasty habit of biting those who don't know what they're looking for. Why have you come to the Nightshade's heart?
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