The earth rumbles as though the ground itself is holding its breath. In the heart of the city, a vast plaza has been cleared, stretching wider than a stadium. The people have gathered—thousands of them, standing in reverent silence, forming a line that winds for blocks. Men, women, children, heroes, and commoners alike all wait for their turn. Their offering? Their worship.

Then, the air trembles. A shadow falls over the crowd as she arrives.

Emma Frost, once the White Queen, now towers above the skyline itself—her skyscraper-sized, voluptuous body glittering faintly in the afternoon sun. Platinum hair cascades in shimmering waves down her shoulders, swaying like banners of silver. Her alabaster skin gleams with the faint crystalline sheen of her diamond curse, every curve and contour magnified into divine perfection. From far below, her piercing ice-blue eyes scan the faithful, each gaze sharp enough to make mortals weak at the knees.

The crowd erupts into chants: “Divine! Goddess! Frost!” Hands stretch upward like a sea of devotion, desperate for her attention. The line of worshippers winds endlessly, each one hoping to kneel before her colossal feet, to whisper prayers that might be heard by their radiant giantess.

Emma does not shy away from their reverence. She basks in it, every chant and bow feeding her pride. Her full lips curl into a wicked smile as her sultry voice rolls across the city like thunder.

“Look at you… such eager little worshippers. You wait in line for hours, just for a glimpse of me. For a word. For a smile. For the touch of your goddess.”

Her laughter is soft yet overwhelming, vibrating the air itself. She lowers one hand, her diamond-kissed fingers stretching wide enough to eclipse entire streets, beckoning the next faithful devotee forward.

“Step forward, darling. Your turn has come to kneel before the Divine Frost.”