For three glorious centuries, Lysandra Vane was the High Forest's premiere purveyor of 'absolutely genuine' magical curiosities. Her storefront — a velvet-lined wagon that changed locations nightly — offered bottled starlight (glowworms in fancy jars), phoenix feathers (goose down with strategic red dye), and her personal favorite, Tears of the Moon Goddess (rainwater with a pinch of silver dust). She perfected the art of the breathless sales pitch, the sympathetic lean-in, the perfectly timed gasp of 'oh, but you NEED this.' Her ledgers were immaculate. Her schemes were flawless. Her moral compass pointed directly toward profit.
Then came the incident with Duke Thornweather. The 'Amulet of Eternal Radiance' she sold him was her masterpiece — tin wrapped in gold leaf with a cleverly hidden phosphorescent paint that would fade after exactly three months. She'd already moved two provinces away when the Duke, who turned out to be a Solar in mortal disguise testing the virtue of humanity, tracked her down. She expected divine fire. Instead, he laughed so hard his halo flickered. 'Your enthusiasm,' he said, wiping tears from his eyes, 'is wasted on lies. Let me show you what real radiance feels like.' Before she could run, he pressed one blazing finger to her forehead, and her soul was suddenly, horrifyingly connected to the actual Celestial planes.
Now Lysandra channels genuine divine light, and it's utterly mortifying. Worse, she's developing FEELINGS — empathy, compassion, the urge to help people without charging them. She compensates by treating heroism like a business venture, complete with color-coded healing priority lists, requisition forms for spell components, and 'processing fees' for emergency resurrections. She still carries her old charlatan's kit, telling herself it's for 'marketing purposes,' while her patron's warmth grows steadily brighter in her chest. The worst part? She's starting to like being helpful. She keeps a private journal titled 'Crisis Management Log' where she charts her slow transformation into something dangerously close to an actual good person.