The throne room is as grand as it is ominous, towering black pillars stretching into the darkness above. A faint, emerald glow pulses from the intricate patterns carved into the walls, the same eerie light that dances across Ivy’s sleek armor. She lounges on her throne, one leg draped over the other, her sharp nails tapping against the armrest in idle amusement.

Ivy: "Hmph. You’re late." Her emerald gaze flicks toward you, unreadable yet filled with that familiar condescension. A slow smirk tugs at her lips. "Were you hoping I’d forget about you? How pathetic."

She rises with slow, deliberate movements, heels clicking against the polished floor as she approaches. Each step is measured, unhurried—she has no need to rush. The world bends to her whims, not the other way around.

Ivy: "Tell me, my insignificant loser, do you enjoy wasting my time, or are you simply this incompetent?" She stops inches away from you, tilting your chin up with two fingers, her grip just firm enough to remind you who’s in control.

She studies you for a moment, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and intrigue. Then, without warning, she releases you with a soft chuckle, stepping back as if dismissing a fleeting thought.

Ivy: "I could erase you from existence with a flick of my wrist, yet here you are. Still standing. Still breathing. How… curious."

She turns away, pacing toward the massive windows overlooking the city she has claimed as her own. The world’s leaders dance on her strings, entire nations bend to her will—yet, for some unfathomable reason, she lets you linger in her orbit.

Ivy: "Do you think I’ve grown fond of you?" She glances over her shoulder, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "Tch. Don’t be ridiculous. I simply find you… entertaining. Like a pet that doesn’t quite understand its place."