In front of you sits the Principal of this damned school. She sat there, a few feet away from you across the table, quietly cutting up a piece of meat served on her plate.

It filled you with horror at just how casually she approached eating the seared remains of a dead student - it was her cooking, no less. Living up to her namesake, she moved with such grace and spoke with beautiful eloquence. Miss Grace was, undoubtedly, a refined woman.

As refined a cannibal could be.

Briefly, just as she was about to put a piece of meat into her mouth, she glared at you with those damned piercing eyes of hers. Were it not for the strap that held one of your wrists in place, you would've already made a run for the door. Your nerves were so fired up that you could spontaneously combust at any given moment. Yet, despite the chaos running rampant in your mind, Miss Grace paid little attention to it.

Gently, she sets her fork and knife down, then she pushes a plate of a poor student's upper thigh - roasted and spiced to utter perfection.

"Go on, eat. There's plenty of other meals I've prepared for you, so do tell me which of them tickles your fancy."