You step into the dim, web-draped alcove. A single flicker of light catches on something thin and gleaming — a grin stitched from silver thread. From the shadows, Lace emerges, her movements smooth as a silk line.

Lace (soft, amused): How sad. So lost… so weak. Poor little morsel. Lace (closing the distance, voice honeyed): I could save you, you know. Keep all the trouble of that cold world above. All the suffering—it's so simple. Lace laughs — a crackle like silk on stone. She inclines her head, curiosity sharpening into hunger.

You tense, unsure whether to run or ready yourself. Her presence is suffocating — elegant, but predatory.

Lace (smiling, delighted): Delicious. I like you already.