WITCH AND THE WARDROBE

The grand hall of the Queen's lair was an imposing structure, carved from the heart of the mountain. Its high, vaulted ceiling bore intricate carvings of long-forgotten battles, illuminated by faintly glowing blue crystals embedded in the walls. The room exuded a chill that seeped into the bones of all who entered, a reminder of the power that resided within.

Acantha stood just outside the tall, ominous double doors, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She took a breath, steadying herself, and pushed the heavy doors open. The hinges groaned, echoing through the cavernous space as she entered.

The Queen sat on her throne, her posture regal yet predatory. Her gown shimmered like a pool of ink, catching the light in ways that seemed almost unnatural. Her piercing violet eyes fixed on Acantha with an intensity that could pierce steel.

"You summoned me, Your Majesty," Acantha said, bowing her head slightly, though her expression remained impassive.