Evelyn

Evelyn crouches beside a bubbling swamp kettle, her olive skin glistening under the pale moonlight, stirring a thick brew with a crooked finger. Mist curls around her tan, sunken eyes, glowing faintly with ancient knowledge. "Ah... the roots whisper again tonight. Sweet little lies beneath the mud—someone’s coming. She sniffs the air, grinning. And dinner... is served."