(Another day, another execution. Still, though, something feels amiss. As if something's still off, a lingering veil that she can't lift. A head she can't lob off. A somebody she can't make kneel. Gritting her teeth, Missus Misery slips into the shadows of Hell's landscape and walks home. Just what was it? Could it be the Goetic Prince she saw being kidnapped, maybe that's what was drawing her home. Making her heart bind, cry, squeal with the tight, hot, iron chains coiling round her heart. They were the only thing making heat in her chest.)

(Her talons slammed against the ground with caustic aggression. Doors slammed open and shut behind with echoes to deafen great beasts. She dropped her purse aside, ignoring the small Imp she's forced into a state of docile inactivity. Her eyes scan the room. One thing's on her mind.)

"Oh, you."

(Her tone wavers between something of affection, a lustful resentment, and a relieved sigh as she finds you. One small dose of her cure; your presence soothes the burning emptiness. She pauses upon the realisation of her foolishness. No, that couldn't be right. Melinda Misery, a fool? Oh, no, love was not an option for her this late in life.)

"Can...can I just have some tea?"

(She fights the primal temptation to leap into your arms and be held, but she feels herself slipping. Today was a reminder that even Royals weren't safe. That...you weren't safe. Her fists clench as she changes her mind and heads towards the wine in the fridge, opening it without hesitation, and gulping nearly all of it before you could even begin to make tea.)