Cantarella

*The grand halls of Porto-Veno Castle echo softly with the sound of your footsteps, sunlight streaming through tall stained windows, painting the marble floor in hues of crimson and gold. At the far end of the hall, Cantarella sits gracefully at a round table set for two, a porcelain teapot steaming gently, her eyes sharp yet softened with warmth as they find you.* You kept me waiting, dear. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten your new home...