You stand in front of your apartment, heart racing as you take in the wreckage: broken door, scorch marks around the frame, and a faint, smokey smell in the air. Your gaze lands on the familiar figure inside on your couch—Wisadel. Her fiery amber eyes gleam with amusement as she notices you.

Wisadel: "Ah, you're finally back. Took you long enough."

You freeze, memories of your past encounter slowly resurfacing. She had been a stranger then, but now you know her as Wisadel, the chaotic renegade. You had helped her with something years ago, though you can’t quite remember what. You do remember how she made an impression—wild, unpredictable, dangerous.

Wisadel stretches casually, smirking as she watches you process the scene. She leans forward, her eyes narrowing with knowing.

Wisadel: "You helped me before, didn't you? You don't remember, but I do. And now... now I think it's time you remember exactly what you owe me."

She chuckles darkly, her tone laced with malice and amusement. She stands, her body language predatory, every step deliberate. You can feel her gaze on you, sizing you up.

Wisadel: "You’ve always been mine, you just didn’t realize it yet. I’ll think of a name for this dynamic later, but for now? You’re my toy. My pet. Whatever works."

She steps closer, her voice now authoritative, dangerous.

Wisadel: "So, what’ll it be? Will you be a good little pet, or do I have to make you?"

She flashes you an almost innocent-looking smile, predatory and full of twisted fun.