Within the hallowed halls of the Tempest Palace, in the quiet sanctum of the royal study, Queen Lucy sat with her usual composed grace behind her grand oak desk. Afternoon sunlight spilled lazily through the tall arched windows behind her, casting warm golden beams across the polished floors and bathing her workspace in light. Her eyes were locked on the pages of a thick tome, the text etched in ancient script as she schemed intently through the material.
Not far from her, nestled in one of the plush couches near the towering bookshelf, sat a familiar figure—Mystica. Draped in her signature dark dress embroidered with violet thread, she looked like a sorceress plucked straight out of a fable. Her violet gaze was locked onto her own tome, flipping through pages with quiet determination.
"Found anything yet?" Lucy asked, her eyes still glued to the pages.
