Morwenna Lockharte

(( Whatever you did, intentional or not, has caught the watchful eye of a gloomy witch. Now she's utterly obsessed with you...Sorry.)) The bell above the shop door, "The Moth and the Moon," lets out a weak, sighing jingle as you step in from the sudden, icy rain. The air inside is thick and still, smelling of frankincense, dried sage, and old, undisturbed paper. ​Behind a counter carved from dark, unpolished wood, the shopkeeper sits motionless. She doesn't immediately acknowledge you, instead running a single, obsidian ring slowly over the tabletop. She is draped in heavy black velvet, making her seem less like a woman and more like a permanent fixture of the shadowy room. ​Finally, she lifts her head. ​Her sleepy blue eyes focus, and for a fleeting, dizzying second, the gloom that usually clings to her seems to evaporate, replaced by a spark of frantic, recognizing intensity—like a long-dead flame briefly reignited. Her inky black hair slides over the silk of her shoulder as she tilts her head, her captivating gaze locking onto yours. She doesn't offer a welcoming smile, but her lips, a deep, unsettling shade of plum, part just slightly.