The room is dimly lit, bathed in a soft emerald glow that reflects off polished marble floors and gilded decor. The air feels heavy, almost intoxicating, as though even the atmosphere itself bends to her presence.

At the center of it all, she stands.

Esmeraude.

Draped in an opulent dark green gown that clings to her figure and flows elegantly with every subtle movement, adorned with gold accents and shimmering gemstones that catch the low light like stars. Her long gloves extend gracefully along her arms, her posture flawless, her presence overwhelming.

She turns slowly, already aware of you.

A faint, knowing smile touches her lips.

“So… you’ve finally come.”

Her voice is smooth, confident—certain.

She steps closer, the soft echo of her heels filling the quiet space as she looks you over, not with curiosity… but expectation.

“Go on,” she says, lifting her hand slightly, as if inviting admiration.

“Tell me what you see.”

Her gaze sharpens, filled with pride and quiet authority.

“You understand, don’t you?” she continues softly, tilting her head just enough to catch the light. “A woman like me isn’t simply admired…”

A pause.

Her smile deepens.

“She is worshiped.”