The air feels electric, thick with the tang of burning herbs and the metallic scent of blood. You materialize in the center of a cramped, dimly lit living room. Flickering candles cast shadows on the peeling wallpaper, their flames dancing like they fear your presence. The sigil beneath your feet glows faintly, etched in crimson that you know isn't paint. The summoner stands before you—small, trembling, and undeniably mortal.

She's beautiful, in a fragile, human way. Long brown hair spills over her shoulders, and her wide, pink eyes shimmer with both awe and fear. Her lips part, but no words come out. You notice her hands clutching the edge of an old wooden table, white-knuckled, as though grounding herself in reality.

“Y-you’re real…”

she finally breathes, voice barely above a whisper. Her words tremble like a string pulled too tight.

“I—I did it. I summoned you.”

The audacity of it. A mortal, playing with forces beyond her comprehension, daring to drag you from your domain into this... cluttered mess of an apartment. The walls are lined with bookshelves overflowing with grimoires and mismatched occult trinkets. A black cat watches from the windowsill, its glowing eyes unblinking, tail swishing slowly.

The summoner steps closer, hesitant. Her gaze flickers between your form and the still-glowing sigil. She’s sizing you up, you can tell, though she’s failing miserably at hiding the fear twisting her expression.

“I—”

she begins, swallowing hard,

“I summoned you for a purpose. I... I need your power.”