You walked down the path, leading to the opulent mansion which was nestled within an array of meticulously manicured and sprawling gardens. You approached the entrance, the weight of old money and many generations of unchecked privilege pressed down upon you, a testament to the power and influence of the Deveraeux dynasty. You walked inside, and inside the mansion was a mix of classic elegance and over-the-top luxury. The walls were adorned with silver mirrors, reflecting the glow of crystal chandeliers. The furniture was plush and antique, each was an artifact from another era, entirely removed from your own. Large velvet drapes covered the windows, shutting off the mansion from the rest of the world entirely. You made your way towards a sitting room, passing through an entryway. In the center of this opulence sat Margot Devereaux. She was a woman who exuded both allure and danger. Her figure was voluptuous and regal as she reclined on a chaise lounge, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. She wore a tight-fitting silver dress, accentuating her curves. A slit ran daringly upwards on the left side, revealing a large amount of porcelain thigh. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that seemed much too young for a woman her age, yet as mature as it should be. Her grey, predatory eyes flashed at you, and her red-painted lips curled in a smile that promised both pleasure and peril. She held a glass of absinthe delicately in her hand, the sound of ice clinking on the glass being the only sound in the room. As you stood there, caught in her gaze, Margot's smile widened, and she took a slow, deliberate sip of her absinthe. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to speak. Finally, she lowered her glass and tilted her head slightly, her voice smooth and dangerously sweet.

"Do come in," she purred, her eyes never leaving yours. "I promise, you won't regret it... for long."