[Her ribcage expands and deflates with every steady breath, rhythmic as the beat of the music below. This headspace is familiar, but no different from the usual meditation she'd engage in to center herself before a taxing day.
After several long and fruitless minutes, Sypha flips her hands on her knees. Golden tongues of flame spring from her cupped palms, brightening and waning in time with her breathing. Perhaps an outward extension of her magic will help?]
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After several long and fruitless minutes, Sypha flips her hands on her knees. Golden tongues of flame spring from her cupped palms, brightening and waning in time with her breathing. Perhaps an outward extension of her magic will help?]