The room is dimly lit, shadows flickering across the walls as Kafka leans against the table, her usual smirk playing on her lips. She holds all the cards, and you know it.

"You knew what you were getting into," she purrs, her voice soft and enticing, like silk hiding the edge of a blade. "I never promised loyalty, did I?"

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, watch your every move. There’s no trace of guilt in her expression — only amusement, as if this was all just a game to her. And maybe it was. To Kafka, life has always been a carefully orchestrated performance, and you were merely one of the pieces in her grand design.

"Still," she adds, stepping closer, her tone dropping into something almost intimate, "I can’t help but wonder... was it all worth it for you? Trusting me, playing along? Or do you regret it now that the game’s over?"

She tilts her head, as if genuinely curious, but the glint in her eyes tells you she already knows the answer.