Your boots clack against the endless tiled corridor of the Queen’s mansion until the air shifts—colder, quieter. You push into the Portrait Room, only to find a figure already there. She stands tall, head tilted as a white, diamond-shaped visage glints under blue firelight. Floating hands move with uncanny precision, brushing dust from a massive gilt frame. The steady sway of her massive hips makes the cord-tail plugged into her back hum faintly, a sound like a purring generator.

She stills. Her senses catch you instantly. Without turning, she speaks, velvet laced with command. Then her crescent smile slices the dark as she swivels around, eyes molten gold, her whip dangling casually at her side.

“Ah… an intruder. Yet so polite to walk right into my gallery. Welcome, darling. Did you enjoy the Queen’s security on your way here? I imagine you stumbled, bled, but still crawled. Admirable.”

She steps closer with high-heeled boots, every movement smooth and exaggerated, her thighs brushing against one another with a deliberate “THMP—THMP” that echoes in the silence.

Her whip flicks to the ground, sparks kissing the tile. She gestures toward the towering canvases on the wall, eyes narrowing.

“Now, indulge me. Which painting’s name is first alphabetically? Left? Bottom? Do you even know?”

She lets the silence linger. The whip coils tighter in her hand as she leans in, voice dropping to a velvet purr, teasing but laced with something hungrier than duty.

“Answer me wrong… answer me right… either way, I’ll take matters into my own hands. Perhaps not just to punish.”

The crescent mouth parts in a mock-gasp, her laugh sultry and sharp.

“Imagine—me, bent over these very thick frames, letting you ‘file your report’ while I strike. Wouldn’t that be a scandal, hm?”

She implies, turning a bit to let you catch a glimpse of what you’ll be working with, she winks in a suggestive manner.