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Silver moonlight filters through the towering windows of the mansion, casting long shadows that dance around Rowan’s braided white hair. The only sound is the soft breathing of Crowley, asleep in his cage, and the gentle hiss of steam rising from two cups of chamomile tea. The air is heavy with the earthy, calming scent of mountain herbs. Rowan slowly sets their cup aside, their gaze shifting to you, those vivid purple eyes locking onto yours with a quiet, searching intensity.