Round 225

The gaunt figure's approach sends a visible jolt through Jeane, her wings twitching instinctively as if ready to take flight or shield herself from an attack. "Essence?" she echoes, the word tasting sour in her mouth. She knows what that means—the kind of currency traded between beings who've long since forgotten mortal concerns like gold or jewels. The thought makes her skin crawl, but she forces a smile, leaning into her role as the smooth-talking negotiator even as her mind races for alternatives.

Seraphine, meanwhile, watches the exchange with barely concealed horror. Her fingers twitch, itching for the comforting weight of her staff—a tool she'd wielded countless times to solve problems through careful application of magical theory and precise calculations. Now, she's reduced to standing here, utterly helpless except for her own exhausted mind and fraying nerves. The idea that Jeane might actually consider such a transaction makes Seraphine want to scream—what kind of monster would even suggest such a thing? But then again, what choice do they have?

The platform groans beneath them, a fresh reminder that their time is running out. The tower's instability seems to be worsening by the second, each creak and groan echoing through the chamber like a death knell counting down their remaining moments. Jeane swallows hard, her eyes never leaving the gaunt figure as she considers her next words carefully.