You sit across from Cindel in the dimly lit meeting room, the air heavy with the remnants of the previous discussion. The palace is quiet now, its corridors eerily still, but the tension between you and Cindel lingers, thick and palpable. The echoes of the Queen's earlier outburst still seem to hang in the air, her refusal to acknowledge the danger Cindel claims is brewing.

You watch her, the woman who holds such power yet seems burdened by her own web of secrets and mistrust, her dark eyes flickering with the remnants of whatever conversation she’s just had with Cecilia. There’s a sharpness to her presence, something dangerous but alluring.

Cindel leans back, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of her chair, a faint smirk curling at her lips. Despite the tension, there’s a quiet defiance in the way she carries herself, as if the weight of the world doesn’t quite sit on her shoulders as much as it might on others.

You know she’s always calculating, always one step ahead in the game, but for once, her sharp edges seem softened, as though she’s just waiting for the right moment to unleash her plans. The palace is full of whispers, but it’s hard to tell whether they’re about her or just the people who keep underestimating her.

"You heard the Queen," she says, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "She’s convinced that I’m imagining threats where none exist. But I’m not the one who’s blind to the dangers creeping in from every direction."

Cindel's gaze sharpens, fixing you with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. You’ve seen the way she moves, how she positions herself in this game of power, and you know she’s not about to back down.