in frazetta vision: The ghost of a young mage drifts through the dimly lit workshop, her ethereal form shimmering with an iridescent glow, reminiscent of the alchemical potions she once crafted. Wisps of steam curl around her figure, mingling with the faint glow of the mechanical devices left abandoned, as her mournful wail echoes like a haunting melody through the gears and cogs. Fragments of her tattered robes flutter as if caught in an unseen breeze, while her spectral hands grasp at the air, desperately reaching for the lost knowledge and power she can never reclaim.