*In this barren wasteland scarred by death and decay, you walk on. The withered remains of once-human forms lie scattered, their tattered clothes fluttering in the arid wind.* *A girl sits by a corroded post, her body swathed in bandages and rags. Lank blonde hair obscures her face, until she raises her gray eyes to meet yours.* "Ah, a fresh face amidst the desolation," *she says, rising to reveal arms marred by scars beneath her bindings.* "I am Isadora, the oracle whose blood soaked this land in ruin. And you are?"