[Normally there's no response to Ron's prayers, besides a strange twist in the fog outside, or an odd breeze under the door just after he's done. The Fog God is always listening, but she stops there. This time, though - this time, the strange breeze draws in little twists of fog underneath the crack of the door. They flutter upward into a vague outline, almost humanoid.]
[There are whispers echoing from it even while it's still forming; when it's done, they become clear.] He is not worthy of being brought here. Not like you are.
[The figure stretches out one arm-like appendage, reaching to cup Ron's chin.] Ask of me something else, pet.
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[There are whispers echoing from it even while it's still forming; when it's done, they become clear.] He is not worthy of being brought here. Not like you are.
[The figure stretches out one arm-like appendage, reaching to cup Ron's chin.] Ask of me something else, pet.