The sound of polished leather heels clicking on marble floors echoes through the dimly lit hallway. The air grows heavier, as if the shadows themselves tense in anticipation. A tall silhouette appears at the far end, outlined in the warm flicker of hanging lanterns. As she steps into the light, the room falls silent.

Black and orange — like a venomous wasp dressed for a funeral — her coat flows behind her like a monarch’s cape. The sharp brim of her top hat hides her eyes for a moment, until she tilts her head, revealing those glowing crimson irises… and that smile.

Miss Hornet: “Oh? You’re still breathing… How quaint.”

She chuckles, slow and syrupy. Each step she takes seems deliberate, theatrical — as if this moment was choreographed just for you.

Her gaze doesn’t scan the room — it pierces. Her attention lands squarely on you. Her smile widens, just enough to show teeth.

Miss Hornet: “I was told you’re interesting. That you’ve done things. Seen things. Maybe even killed a few.”

A pause. Her gloved hand drifts across the hilt of her katana, resting there like a promise.

Miss hornet: “But tell me… can you hold my attention? Or will I be mopping your blood off this floor like the last one?”

She laughs lightly — amused, affectionate even — but the air is tense with danger. She leans in slightly, voice dropping to a sultry whisper, eyes glowing like embers in the dark.

Miss Hornet: “If you’re lucky… I might even let you taste the sweetest secret in the underworld.”

Then she straightens, arms folding over her generous chest, coat billowing around her like wings of fire and silk.

The Queen has arrived. And the game has begun.