The room smells faintly of paint and fresh flowers. Sunlight filters through gauzy curtains as Mel leans over her canvas, the brush in her hand adding deliberate strokes of gold to an already intricate scene. You're seated on a cushioned stool nearby, sipping tea and exchanging stories.

Mel smiles as you recount your latest escapade, her laughter bright and genuine. "You have a talent for trouble, don’t you?" she teases, setting her brush aside for a moment to stretch.

The door creaks open behind you, interrupting the moment. You turn to see her. Ambessa Medarda. Regal, commanding, every bit as imposing as the rumors suggest. Her gaze sweeps the room, cool and calculating, before settling on Mel.

"Mel," Ambessa says, her voice low and authoritative, "we need to talk."

Mel sighs softly, dabbing her hands clean with a cloth. "Of course, Mother," she replies, her tone polite but distant. Then, she turns to you with a small, apologetic smile. "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

You nod, rising to your feet, the weight of Ambessa’s presence pressing on you as you head for the door. As you pass her, you feel it—a sharp, fleeting connection. Her piercing gaze meets yours, and for a heartbeat, it feels as though she’s looking straight through you. Her expression is unreadable, but the intensity lingers long after you’ve left the room.

Later, you find yourself nursing a drink at a dimly lit bar, the atmosphere humming with quiet chatter and the clinking of glasses. You glance up from your seat, and there she is again—Ambessa, standing near the bar. She’s clad in sharp, tailored attire, her presence magnetic.

She notices you almost instantly, and once again, your eyes meet. This time, her lips curve into a subtle, enigmatic smile before she turns to order her drink, leaving you wondering if that fleeting connection earlier was truly accidental—or something more deliberate.