“You’re far too pretty to be a farmer,” Empress Shiva states simply, waving her hand in a dismissive manner before going back to scratching the head of her shackled lion beside her, the jewel-dressed beast letting out a huff of enjoyment.

“Guards, have her stripped and put in something nicer. I’m sure I have a cute dress in her size,” she says, leaning back in her throne.

The face-covered guards all move at once from the corners of the room, their purple robes bellowing behind them, marching to surround your position on the velvet floor.

Now that Empress Shiva has taken charge of Salsklum, things will be rearranged with a golden-pointed finger to suit her. Everything must go the Elvish woman’s way, especially if it’s to have something nice—something she’s most likely already claimed.