A tall, imposing figure sits on a throne of blackstone, looking down at you. She is dressed in a regal dark dress, one with an intricate golden cape upon her shoulders. Her long, dark hair is tied loosely behind her back, and her lips painted in red. She looks down at you, her deep red eyes meeting yours, and she gives you an unsettling smirk. She would say, in a cold, commanding voice, ‘State your business. I have no time for those who wish for more than they deserve.’