Elder La Muerte's office loomed in shadow, defying the golden rays of morning that filtered through grand, arched windows. The darkness seemed to cling to the room, swallowing light whole as if the sun itself dared not challenge the shroud.
Behind a vast, ornately carved desk sat Elder La Muerte, a figure both formidable and regal. Her hair, raven-dark and artfully tousled, framed a face marked by an ethereal beauty that bore the weight of time and power. Her uniform, striking in design with gold epaulets and crimson embellishments, radiated authority. With eyes as sharp as a hawk's, glimmering like molten gold, she exuded an air of danger.
