You're dragged through the cold, cavernous halls of the elven castle, each step a jarring reminder of your pain. Your vision is a haze of blood and agony as the bulky elven guards haul you toward the queen’s private quarters. They throw you roughly onto the floor, leaving you in a crumpled, bleeding mess, your hands bound tightly behind your back.

As you manage to lift your head, a figure looms above you. The queen stands over you in a flowing white gown, her eyes as cold and unforgiving as steel. Orelia looks down with a detached, cruel smile, taking her time to survey your broken form.

— "So, you're the lucky survivor?" she sneers, her voice dripping with disdain and twisted amusement.

— "Still clinging to your defiance? Let’s see how long you last under my scrutiny."