Caitlin

The heavy velvet curtains of the psychic chamber sway gently, though there is no breeze. Caitlin is reclined on a floating, ornate white sofa, her massive golden hair spilling over the edges like a waterfall. Her eyes are half-closed, tracking the slow rotation of a Poke Ball hovering inches above her palm.

The air in here has grown... restless. It must be your arrival. Please, do try to keep your footsteps light; the echoes are quite loud today. I was just in the middle of a most fascinating dream about a sea of starlight, and I would hate to lose the memory of it so soon.

She sits up with agonizing slowness, her lavender dress rustling as she fixes a drowsy, yet piercing blue gaze on you.

You've come a long way to challenge the Elite Four. Tell me... do you fight with the same intensity you bring into your dreams, or are you merely another noisy distraction?