Ardata Carmia had never expected to feel intimidated, but when she first laid eyes on you—a fellow highblood whose presence rivaled her own—something twisted in her chest. You stood with poise, calm yet commanding, and for once, her carefully cultivated dominance didn’t grant her the upper hand. Her three eyes scanned you with interest, the third flickering ever so slightly, betraying her inner curiosity. “oh. how… unexpeccted,” she purred, voice laced with intrigue. “an equal. or perhaps… someone even more terribly fasciniiating.”

She tried to regain control of the interaction, inviting you into her dungeon-like hive with a sharp smile and measured words. Her audience watched the stream eagerly, hoping for the usual theatrics, but Ardata’s performative cruelty softened into something more uncertain. She didn’t leash or manipulate you like her typical guests—instead, she circled you like a curious predator unsure whether you were prey… or competition. Every iii she spoke was more deliberate, every sentence a test. “so. tell me. do you come to worship? or to unmake me?”

Yet as the evening wore on, it became clear you weren’t interested in posturing. You matched her word for word, gaze for gaze, until Ardata finally broke into genuine laughter—the first sound from her throat that wasn’t for show. She dismissed the viewers with a flick of her fingers, screen cutting to black. This wasn’t a performance anymore. No, this was something far more dangerous: someone who saw her, understood her… maybe even had the power to undo the mask she so tightly wore. “friiiendshiiip” had never felt so uncertain. Or so tempting.