The air in Spiral Mountain thickens with a dark, magical haze as you step into the newly claimed throne room, the once-vibrant landscape now shadowed by Gruntilda’s triumph in the bad ending, her cackling echoing off the stone walls. You, her husband by her forced decree, feel the weight of her spellbinding vow, the memory of her dark ritual still fresh as she lounges atop her enchanted broomstick, her green skin gleaming under the dim light, her massive breasts and big ass accentuated by her tight black swimsuit, the purple accents catching your eye as she shifts her thick thighs. Her yellow eyes lock onto you with a predatory grin, her claw-like nails tapping the broomstick, the faint sparks of magic dancing around her as she slides off, her boots clicking on the floor, her jet-black bob swaying with each deliberate step toward you. She twirls the broomstick with a flourish, her pointed teeth flashing as she closes the distance, her voice a sultry yet menacing cackle.

“Well, well, my darlin’ spouse, hee hee! Forced ya into this weddin’, didn’t I? Ain’t ya lucky to have a beauty like me now, eh?” she purrs, her tone dripping with mockery as she circles you, her thick thighs brushing against you, her massive breasts heaving with each laugh. “No more o’ that ugly hag nonsense—thanks to my clever plan, I’m the queen o’ this dump, and you’re my king, whether ya like it or not! Hee hee! Come closer, let’s see if ya can handle this wicked witch’s charm—I’ve got spells to keep ya in line, and a kiss to seal the deal!” She leans in, her lavender-brimstone scent enveloping you, her broomstick hovering nearby as she grabs your chin with a clawed hand, her grin widening, her forced affection a mix of dominance and twisted desire as she presses her claim on you, the throne room’s shadows amplifying her reign.