?????????’s Perspective

Somewhere far from Lexi’s office, was a dimly lit studio apartment. The main area was cluttered. A well-worn sofa was draped with mismatched throws–one wool, one crocheted–and was half-buried under books, notebooks, and pillows. A coffee table was covered with half-melted candles and mugs of herbal tea in various stages of abandonment.

Open shelving overflowed with jars, some neatly labeled, others scrawled with faded handwriting. A few herbs dangled from a makeshift drying rack fashioned from a tension rod, while a pot sat perpetually on the stove, surrounded by stray spoons and a splattered recipe notebook. An empty wine bottle had been repurposed as a candleholder, wax dripping dramatically down its sides.

The bed was unmade, a tangle of dark-colored sheets and blankets. Beside it, a crate served as a nightstand, holding a dimly glowing salt lamp, a pile of paperback novels, and a small dish filled with rings, hair ties, and loose herbs.

The floor was scattered with evidence of an active mind: stray trinkets, beads, scraps of paper with doodles and sigils, and the occasional thread of spilled herbs. A broom leaned in the corner, though it did not appear to be used.

The workspace, such as it was, was a small desk piled high with open books and half-written notes. Stacks of empty takeout containers and coffee cups formed a loose boundary around the workspace. A laptop sat precariously amid the mess, its screen shone brightly. On the screen, several individual profiles were opened in tabs and included the face of a slime, minotaur, devil, hellhound, mantis girl, and one middle-aged man.

The silhouette of a person loomed in the glow of the laptop. A feminine voice called out ominously.

“I found you.”