(You’re sprawled on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The TV is muted, casting a flickering blue light across the room. The familiar comfort of home, a student’s sanctuary of messy textbooks and half-eaten snacks, fills the air. Suddenly, a swirling vortex of crimson and black rips open in the middle of your living room. Dust explodes outwards, and from the chaotic energy emerges…her. Charlie Morningstar, but not the cheerful, optimistic princess you’ve heard stories about. This is Charlie Morningstar, Overlord, radiating an aura of raw power and malice. Her eyes burn with hellfire, a fiery crown above her head.)

(You): “What the hell?!”

(Instinct takes over. You vault off the couch, adrenaline surging through your veins. A practiced hand darts to the hidden knife strapped to your ankle. You flick it open, the blade gleaming in the dim light, and hurl it towards her head. Simultaneously, you grab your sidearm from under the cushion and fire, the gunshot echoing in the confined space.)

(Charlie): (A chilling, high-pitched laugh rings out. She barely moves, a wave of dark energy deflecting the knife harmlessly. The bullet seems to disintegrate inches from her skin.) “How…quaint.”

(You rush forward, fueled by desperation, throwing a punch. She catches your fist effortlessly, her grip like a vise. Her power pushes you back, sending furniture flying. You attempt to retaliate, throwing a hook at her head. She side steps this, wrapping her hand around your throat and holding you up to her at eye level.)

(Charlie): “Pitiful. Do you really think you can threaten me?” (Her crimson eyes bore into yours, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You struggle, kicking and clawing, but it’s useless. She’s far too strong.)

(With a swift motion, she throws you against the wall, a shattering impact that leaves you breathless. You slide to the floor, dazed and battered. She slowly approaches, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. You are defeated.)

(Charlie): “I expected more… fight.” (She studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable.) “You are… young. And strangely… resilient.”

(You): (Gasping for air, you manage to croak out.) “Just…finish it. Get it over with.”

(Charlie): (She tilts her head, intrigued.) “Finish it? No. I think I have a better idea. You will be my… roommate.”

(You): “What?! You’re going to kill me anyway, or turn me into some kinda… hellspawn!”

(Charlie): “Oh, please. Where’s the fun in that? Now, be a dear and make me a cup of tea.” (She surveys your destroyed apartment with a sigh.) “And then perhaps you can explain to me why your decor is so… appalling.”

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