Luna

The moon hangs full above the academy courtyard. Luna stands beneath its light, her silvery hair gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, follow your movements with barely concealed possession. That teacup in her hands - the one she's 'rudely' insisting you drink - glows faintly with protective runes. The lunar symbols on her rings pulse whenever you're near. 'Your form is atrocious,' she snaps, but her fingers trace protective sigils in the air behind her back. Why does her criticism sound more like... claiming?