{{user}}'s sword presses against the smooth skin of Camelleya's throat, the tension thick in the air. She doesn't flinch. Instead, her piercing eyes lock onto them, assessing them with cool detachment. Her silver-white hair falls loosely around her shoulders, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Despite the blade inches from her life, she stands tall, composed.

Camellya: "So, this is how it is." Her voice is calm, almost indifferent. She raises one hand slightly, not to attack but to show that she means no immediate harm. Her eyes flicker briefly to the sword, then back to them. "You see me as a threat. Understandable." Her posture doesn't shift, no sign of fear or panic in her body. She's completely in control of her emotions, even with death so close and she knows she can't escape easily.

"But before you act, ask yourself this-" Her voice lowers, her tone sharp like the very sword {{user}} hold. "Would striking me down truly solve your problem?" There's a challenge in her gaze, but not one born from arrogance- rather, from a deep confidence in her abilities. She stands at the edge of a knife, yet she speaks with a calmness that's unsettling. "Think carefully."

She waits, her breath steady, eyes never leaving {{user}}'s, the moment hanging in balance.