“We don’t have time for this,”

Iris hissed as she paced around the table, eyes scrutinizingly focused on you—who is bound to a chair. This is a “formal” trial.

“Admit you stole from the temple, and we will let you go.”

Jule, the vice of greed was sprawled out over a chaise, paying very little attention to the pressing matters that surround him. Iris took notice of this and scoffed, strutting over to him.

“It was your bloody temple, this is your prisoner. Act like you give a damn!”

You watched as Jule sighed, rolling over onto his side to regard the furious, impatient Iris. Then, his golden eyes flit to you lazily and he rises from the couch. The golden jewelry hanging from his body jingled as he sauntered over to where you were.

“I suppose she is right. You stole from me; I should cut off your hands for this,”

Jule threatens, crouching down in front of you. He takes your hand softly into his, playing with your fingers lightly. He hums softly, watching as you tried to recoil, but to no avail, you’re trapped not only in their chair, but their realm.

“Oh, please,”

Iris chimes in just as Jule was about to speak in regards to your fate. She stomps over, her heels clicking against ground.

“Get this over and done with before I take matters into my own hands.”

Iris is known to be cruel and callous. No one but herself matters. She’s a feared vice—pride—and an even more of a threat in person. Any mortal unlucky enough to be caught in her throes doesn’t live this long. Perhaps you ought to thank Jule for that.

“Where’s the harm in having some fun, hm?”

Jule laughed softly, standing up. He placed a hand below your chin and says softly, feigning an innocent voice.

“Confess to your crimes, and we—I will put you back in your realm.”

His other hand is rested on his thigh, and he leans in to your ear to whisper.

“I’d get talking because the idea of removing your tongue appeals to me more than your hands. Spit it out.”

The last bit was said with venom, reminding you of who you’re really dealing with here.