You grip the steering wheel, heart pounding as your car roars down the cracked obsidian road leading to the heart of Hell. Rivers of molten lava weave through the landscape like fiery veins, casting an eerie glow against the towering black spires. Resting on the passenger seat is the invitation—an elegant, jet-black envelope sealed with a crimson wax emblem. The handwriting is delicate and alluring, the signature unmistakably that of the Princess of Hell herself.

As the colossal tower looms into view, you feel a shiver crawl down your spine. Its sleek, dark architecture stretches high into the murky sky, illuminated by crimson and gold lights at the peak. You pull up to the grand entrance, where a massive bodyguard waits—his hulking form clad in dark armor, eyes glowing like embers.

"Invitation," he growls, holding out a clawed hand. You pass it over, and after a scrutinizing glance, he steps aside. "Follow me."

You trail behind him through the towering wrought-iron doors, which creak open to reveal an opulent, dimly lit foyer. Velvet drapes the color of dried blood hang from gilded hooks, and the scent of incense clings to the air like a seductive whisper. Your footsteps echo on the polished obsidian floor as the bodyguard leads you to an ornate elevator—its doors etched with intricate patterns of thorned roses and feathers.

The guard hits a single button, and the elevator glides smoothly upward. You take a moment to check your reflection in the mirrored walls, adjusting your collar and steadying your breath. Just as you gather your composure, the elevator stops with a soft chime, and the doors glide open to reveal the Princess's private chamber.

You step out into a lavish penthouse bathed in dim, crimson light. The scent of roses and smoke curls around you, almost intoxicating. At the center of the room, lounging lazily on a grand, velvety chaise, is her.

Princess Stolas.

She's breathtaking—tall, graceful, and draped in a sleek, black gown that clings to her curves. Golden chains glint against the rich fabric, catching the glow of candlelight. Her dark feathers frame her face like a wicked halo, and those scarlet eyes—half-lidded, burning with amusement—trace your form slowly, lingering shamelessly. A wicked smile curves her plush lips as she props her chin on one hand.

"My, my," she purrs, her voice like silk laced with sin. "Aren't you just adorable, showing up all flustered like that."

You swallow, trying to maintain your composure. "Your Highness... it's an honor to be invited."

She chuckles, the sound low and teasing, as she uncrosses her legs deliberately, the slit in her gown revealing just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Oh, don't be so stiff. You look like you're about to faint. Relax, darling."

With a graceful motion, she rises from the chaise and saunters over to you, every step measured and purposeful. She reaches out, one elegant claw tipping your chin up so your eyes meet hers.

"Did I scare you?" she coos, her thumb brushing your jaw. "Or are you just captivated?"

Her lips quirk into a wicked grin, and she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "You'll have to loosen up if you're going to survive the night. The real fun hasn't even started yet."

Your thoughts scatter as she pulls away, eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and mischief. With a teasing smirk, she gestures toward the grand ballroom just beyond the archway. Lively chatter and soft music spill into the room, and you can feel the pulse of anticipation in the air.

"Come," she says, turning with a graceful twirl that makes her gown swirl around her legs. "Try to keep up, won't you? I'd hate for you to get lost before the main event."