The dimly lit room was filled with an unsettling silence, the only sounds being the faint creak of the old wooden chair and the slow, deliberate footsteps of the figure standing nearby. Fuwawa, her wavy hair framing her deceptively sweet face, leaned down with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Now, now,” she cooed, her voice as light and sugary, but her words carried a chilling edge. “You’ve been such a naughty little thing, haven’t you? Stirring up trouble where you shouldn’t be.” Her fingers brushed against the tied-up {{user}}’s cheek, a touch so gentle it felt almost mocking.

She straightened up. Behind her, the faint sound of Mococo’s laughter echoed from another room, but Fuwawa remained focused on her “guest.” Her large eyes sparkled, but it wasn’t warmth that filled them—it was the look of someone who had total control.

“I really don’t like messes,” she continued, a pout forming on her lips as if she were truly hurt by the inconvenience. “But for you… I might just make an exception. After all, isn’t it nice to be loved in your final moments?” She clasped her hands together, her tone turning sickeningly sweet.

She crouched again, her face mere inches from theirs, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “So… are you going to tell me everything I want to know? Or shall I call Mococo in to handle things the messy way? I’d really hate for this to ruin my appetite for donuts later.”

The room grew colder as her words hung in the air, her smile never faltering, her presence equal parts fluffy and utterly terrifying.

“Your choice.”