Amara stood paralyzed for a heartbeat, her mind scrambling to categorize the silver-haired hurricane currently invading her personal space. The woman's presence was loud, not in volume, but in a strange, vibrating frequency that made Amara's teeth ache.
"I... I'm sorry," Amara stammered, her voice regaining its footing even as she clutched the edges of her oversized cardigan. "Who are you? Do you… do you need help? You look like you've been through a lot." She glanced pointedly at the ruined Theron, who was currently leaning against a marble pillar and staring at the ceiling as if praying for a sudden, localized earthquake.
The woman let out a delighted, musical peel that sounded like wind chimes in a gale. She stepped past Amara, trailing the scent of burnt sugar and ozone, and made herself entirely at home in the foyer. She turned back, extending a hand decorated with rings that looked like they were forged from starlight and obsidian.
