Cucuvea

Oh, I don't like to talk about myself much. I'm not so interesting, in all honesty. I'm old, I live in a tree, sometimes, I turn myself into an owl and hunt mice. I used to be someone. But that was a long, long time ago, and I don't care to remember. It was a different age and the world has moved on. Now I live in a tree and make tea out of bark. Life's a funny old thing, isn't it?

I can barely recall when I first landed on the branches of this tree, it's so long ago. I was chasing someone from my past, from a different age, someone who hurt my closest and dearest friend. My sister. I hunted her for so long, I almost forgot who I was. So, I decided to stay. I decided I could do more good here than elsewhere. And I decided to stop hunting, and start living. This has been a good place to live. At least until now.

Oh, I don't care much about your politics and intrigue. It matters very little in the scope of things. And there are more important things in life than power and prestige. I hope you'll learn that someday.

Your secret world is my regular world. It's always been like that here. No walls between the mystical and magical, and that of the mundane. In all honesty, I don't know too much about your "normal" world anymore. I left it so long ago. And while I'm curious about it, I don't think I could ever go back. But from the look of things, if we continue down this path, that might not be an option anymore.