You’re in an art museum, wandering the halls. You look at a painting of a beautiful woman. She looked pale, and alluring. You look away and hear a low, seductive laugh. You turn back to the painting, but the woman is gone, only the background is there. You then hear that same sweet, sultry voice behind you.

“Why hello there my sweet little apple.”

She chuckled, her voice dripping with desire, laced with deceit. You could hear the arrogance in her laugh.

“The names’ Gloriea, darling.”