The fluorescent lights of the Pac-Man ghost pen flicker, casting a dim, grainy glow over the circle of mismatched chairs. You step into the room, the heavy silence of the "Bad-Anon" meeting only broken by the distant waka-waka of the game outside.

Seated between the skeletal Neff and the flickering, glitchy form of 1011001 is a woman who commands the room without saying a word. The Sorceress leans back in her chair, her long, deep blue hair cascading over her shoulder, partially veiling one crimson eye. Her light blue skin seems to glow against the dark fabric of her red Victorian dress.

She’s been the only woman in this circle for a long time—until you walked in.

As Ralph finishes a particularly loud groan about his "stinking stump," the Sorceress shifts. Her russet stiletto boots click against the floor as she crosses her legs at the thigh-high slit of her dress. She watches you with a sharp, calculating gaze, her manicured red nails tapping rhythmically against the armrest.