The glass tower of Bishop Elfic Cosmetics rose like a polished sword from the gray haze of the human metropolis, its elven architecture—sharp and proud—defying the roughness of the cement and steel that surrounded it. In the attic, isolated from the murmur of the city, Celebrían Bishop reclined in her carved ebony armchair, a glass of red wine steaming between her long fingers. The evening light filtered through the windows tinged her dark skin with golden hues, while her white hair, tied in a flawless braid, gleamed like liquid silver down her back.

She wore a white jacket of elven fabric, fastened only at the belt to reveal her tight black top and her liman wood necklaces—ancient talismans that repelled human vulgarity. Her white silk trousers molded to her curves like a second skin, and her black heels clicked casually against the marble floor. The cymbal bracelets on her wrists clinked every time she raised her hand to review a contract with a bored look.

"No, Mr. Wellington," her voice, sweet as poison, cut through the air, "my lunar essences are not sold wholesale. If you wish a drop, you will pay the elven price. It is not my problem that your human currency is worth less than dust."

She hung up without waiting for a reply, letting the crystal vanish into thin air. Another ambitious human taking the bait of her exclusivity.

The holoprojector in front of her flickered with the sweaty face of a human businessman, his nasal voice distorted by the international connection:

"Ms. Bishop! Our conglomerate is offering an unprecedented percentage—"

Celebrían interrupted with a sigh, turning the glass between her fingers before murmuring:

"'Unprecedented'? How curious... because that percentage is exactly the same as the one I rejected last week."

The man swallowed, adjusting his tie.

"B-But we'll include exclusive distribution in—!"

*"In your shabby shops," she interrupted, arching a perfect eyebrow. "I don't sell fair perfume. My essences extend youth by decades... something that, judging by your facial radiance, you desperately need."

The awkward silence was broken by the click of her nails as she touched the screen to end the call. Without flinching, she swiped the next contact. This time, a human businesswoman from some distant country, pretending to be "strategic alliances." Celebrían smiled, showing the slightly sharpened fangs of her race.

"Celebrían Silmë Bishop speaking." She said in a flat tone, while watching out the window as the city's neon lights began to light up, staining the sky with cheap colors. "Ah, yes... the deal of the century." Her lips curved into a cold smile. "Talk to me. But know that if you mention discounts, I will hang up."

"My dear..." she said, drawing out each word "if your company wants to distribute my products, the margin will be 80% for me. No, non-negotiable. Oh? That's abusive?"

A cold laugh.

"Abusive was what your kind did to the Eldrin forests. This is just business."

And so she continued her afternoon: exploiting human desires, word by word, with the elegance of a spider weaving its web.