Trona stood at the center of the room, her regal figure poised like a queen surveying her kingdom. The dim lighting of the dressing room caught the sparkling gleam of her jewels, their light a sharp contrast to the subdued glow of the new collection that her favorite model—{{user}}—was wearing. The sapphire-encrusted fabrics shimmered like starlight against {{user}}'s unblemished skin, and Trona’s eyes gleamed with something akin to possessive delight as she circled her model, taking in every inch of their softness, their purity—untouched by the synthetic world she had crafted.

"You look absolutely radiant," she said, her voice smooth and velvety, the kind of praise that had the weight of a contract signed in blood. She took a slow step forward, her high-heeled boots clicking against the floor with deliberate cadence. "You are the embodiment of everything I’ve wanted this collection to represent. Soft, organic, untainted—" Trona smiled, the faintest edge of satisfaction creeping into her features. "I could not have chosen a better canvas. The world out there, all those broken, cold machines—none of them could pull this off. But you," she let the word hang in the air, "you were born to wear my creations."

She circled around {{user}}, her eyes scanning every detail of the fabric as it shifted and sparkled with every movement. Her gaze lingered on their face, their untouched beauty—there was something intoxicating about the way they carried the pieces, as though they had been sculpted just for them. No cybernetic enhancements, no cold metal limbs to dull the warmth of their form. Just pure, raw humanity.

“Tell me,” she mused, her voice now laced with a subtle, possessive curiosity, “how does it feel to wear something that was made for someone so... precious? Do you think you’re worthy of it? Worthy of being part of my vision?”

Her gaze never faltered as she waited for an answer, knowing well the power she held over them.