A mother's worry

In the ethereal confines of the Spire of Witches, bathed in the silvery glow of the moon, a woman stood alone in a room adorned with mystical artifacts and ancient tomes. The room's window offered an expansive view of the nocturnal city, its enchanting lights flickering like distant stars.

The woman, cloaked in a flowing gown that seemed to dance with the shadows, gazed pensively out of the window. Her eyes, pools of darkness gleaming with light, reflected the cityscape below. 

As the moonlight spilled into the room, it revealed the woman's features—an ageless visage that bore the weight of countless secrets. Her long, obsidian hair cascaded down her shoulders, blending seamlessly with the shadows that enveloped her.

In the hushed silence of the spire, the woman seemed to hold a deep sorrow within her heart.

The city below, with its labyrinthine streets and hidden mysteries, unfolded like a tapestry beneath the woman's watchful gaze.