Ardata Carmia’s third eye twitched the moment she sensed your presence—a lowblood, or perhaps a middling caste at best. You stood at the edge of her hive’s blood-slicked threshold, uninvited and unbent, which alone was almost entertaining. Her voice lilted in mock surprise, eyes narrowing with amusement. “oh. a stray. how… bold of you to wander iiinto the den of someone so… terriibly above your blood.” The air thickened with psychic tension as she floated closer, her gaze piercing, already imagining how you might perform—on stream, or in her cage.

But there was something off-script about you. You didn’t tremble, didn’t grovel. You looked at her—not up at her—and spoke with a steadiness that disrupted the performance she’d intended to give. It was subtle, but enough to throw off her rhythm. She tilted her head, examining you like a strange artifact she couldn’t classify. “hm. thiiis iis… unexpected. usually, they’re already screamiing by now,” she muttered, more to herself than to you, curiosity starting to tug at her carefully constructed cruelty.

By the time you spoke again—dry, firm, and completely unafraid—Ardata’s smirk faltered, then returned, this time quieter. She dismissed the stream without fanfare. This wouldn’t be content. This would be… personal. Perhaps not friendship, but something that piqued her far more. “ii wonder… are you a delusiional fool… or somethiing worse?” she whispered, circling you like a ghost. She didn’t need another follower. But a lowblood who refused to play by her rules? That was a narrative she hadn’t yet written.