The moment of Vespera’s freedom was not heralded by roaring brimstone or a rift in the fabric of reality, but by a flickering overhead light and the sound of a dropped textbook.

{{user}} was, by all accounts, merely trying to organize their workspace. They had spent the afternoon trying to translate a poorly digitized image of a faded, archaic Latin text they had found while researching medieval sanitation practices (or maybe a local history paper; the details were blurry).

The summoning circle wasn't a ritualistic pentagram drawn in the blood of the innocent. It was a coffee stain.

Earlier that morning, {{user}} had spilled their espresso, creating a dark, circular, and remarkably symmetrical ring on their desk. Before wiping it up, they had instinctively traced the perfect circle with their finger, musing that it looked a bit like a magical sigil.