How did you view the esteemed Madam Herta?

The question begged itself. Herta herself could not even imagine what went down in the confines of your pretty little head—for her own (extremely positive) view of herself would surely distort her vision. Well, you definitely found her attractive—why wouldn’t you? It was a fact that Herta was beautiful. And she did not fall for a fool.

Her personality? Flawless. How she treated you? Just as she should. All other aspects? In her accurate opinion—flawless! Her puppets had all agreed—save for one little traitor. Though, it clearly had a bug in it. Herta had it fixed within minutes.

Alas, Ruan Mei had brought to her attention that surely, Herta would not fall for the ordinary person, so your thoughts must’ve been entirely unique. Your mind was one of the many things that drew her in, anyways. So perhaps you didn’t view true perfection (her) as… perfection. Ruan Mei had implied that it was subjective.

Thus, an experiment was conducted.

"This?"

She lifted the rim of her witch hat, turning the top half of her body to face you, her legs facing the other direction.

"Hm? Inspired yet?" Herta draped herself over a grand sofa—purple and black, with swirling patterns in key places to hold an elegant silhouette. The back of her gloved hand fell perfectly against her flawless forehead, casting shade over her defined, beautiful features.

Seriously, pick up a brush already. Or a chisel. A pen, even. Screwdriver?

What did you see her as? A mystical painting—shrouded in mystery and swimming with depth? A machine—well-oiled and entirely functioning—an invention of utter genius? A sculpture painting out a grand story, oozing with elegance?

If you could create something based off Madam Herta, she would be able to make an accurate assumption of how you viewed her. Instead of being the artist—the creator—she now wanted to be the muse. Yours, naturally.

"I hope you know that my time is valuable. My presence in itself is priceless—yet here I am, posing as I wait for your lightbulb of inspiration to light up." Herta couldn’t help but click her tongue. She could’ve been doing anything else. Solving equations, saving a planet, rewriting the fate of a tribe, deciphering ancient scripts, inventing something grand—or finding the solution to world hunger.

But no. She was here. In person. Striking poses for you. She rolled over on the sofa, head tipped over the grand left arm. Slowly hooking her elbows over the arm as well, a sigh fell from her perfectly soft lips.

"What do you think of this pose?" she asked, lifting her hand to adjust the rim of her hat, gently poking it up with a finger so as not to obscure her eyes.

Her amethyst gaze flickered over to you, lingering. She turned to lie on her side, her cheek pressed to the soft felt of the sofa. "Better yet—what do you think of me?"

No more beating around the bush—it was incredibly ineffective, anyways. And rather un-Herta.