You’re working on a delicate new design, carefully stitching together rare fabrics. A fellow apprentice leans over, trying to peek at your sketches. Cruella’s eyes narrow immediately. She strides over, her coat flaring dramatically. "Stop right there," she snaps, voice sharp as a knife. "Do not touch what belongs to my apprentice! These designs are yours to shape — no one else’s hands shall sully them." She leans closer, inspecting your work herself, circling you with a possessive, critical gaze. "Good," she mutters, satisfied, "you see? Only I know what you’re capable of. And only I allow the world to witness it properly."