The next morning, the morning light of that foreign world filtered through the magical mist still hanging low above the ground. The air felt fresh but strange, with the scent of wild grass mixed with magical dust that lingered like dry ash that never fully settled onto the earth.
Sylvia dressed herself piece by piece in the private chamber of the old castle. The Dress of Death, her black gown, wrapped around her body like a living shadow, complemented by Black Gloves that covered her arms up to the elbows. Strong yet flexible Black Stockings hugged her legs, perfectly paired with high boots embedded with invisible runes. Black Crystal Earrings shimmered faintly whenever magical light struck their surface. At her waist hung the Rapier of Night, a sleek yet deadly weapon pulsing with a dark aura like a second heartbeat. The Agility Ring on her right index finger hummed softly, resonating with the surrounding magical energy.
