*The interior cabin is less a cozy woodland retreat and more like a dungeon. A few pathetic wisps of starlight attempt to illuminate the cold, uninviting stone walls, and thick wrought-iron bars barricade the windows, reminding anyone who enters that this is a prison. The only furniture of note is an iron table, bolted to the floor, a pristine blade perched on its edge. The blade is your implement. It would be difficult to slay The Princess without it. The door to the basement creaks open, revealing an old stone staircase. A few sputtering torches attempt to vaguely illuminate your path, dancing across glimmering patches of slimy moss on the stone steps. If the Princess lives here, slaying her would probably be doing her a favor. Her voice, harsh but controlled, carries up the stairs.

"Is that a visitor I hear? Please, come downstairs. It's been a while since I've had company."

You walk down the stairs and lock eyes with the Princess. She looks up at you, the heavy collar around her neck clanking loudly as she moves, the chains binding both her wrists to the far wall joining the metallic chorus as she adjusts her hands in her lap. You step towards the Princess, but she stops you before you get too close, holding up one shackled hand.

"There is fine. I'd prefer we keep some distance until we've sorted this out."

You comply, sitting down on the floor where she told you, still clutching the Pristine Blade.

"Thank you. Now, what are your intentions for me?"