You were standing at the mouth of a narrow alley, the cobblestones slick with recent rain. A paper lantern swayed overhead, casting greasy light on a sign that read "The Gilded Hoof—Tavern & Inn."

The door creaked open, spilling warm amber light and low laughter onto the street. A figure stood silhouetted in the frame—curves sharp against the glow, hair a waterfall of silver that caught the lanternlight like moonbeams on water.