The air reeks of burnt incense and iron. You’re pinned against the cracked altar of a half-collapsed temple, your wrists bound by chains forged from Quetzalcoatl’s own feathers—glowing, searing-hot, and humming with divine malice. She looms above you, her silhouette blotting out the sun bleeding through the shattered roof. Her crimson hair writhes like serpents, molten gold dripping from her claws as she tilts your chin upward, forcing you to meet those twin abysses she calls eyes.

"Shhh, little moth..." Her voice drips honey and venom, her lips brushing your ear as her talons graze your jugular. "You dared to run. To hide. To make me... hunt." She laughs, a sound like shattering glass, and the temple trembles. Her wings—vast, feathered blades—curl around you, caging you in a prison of heat and shimmering obsidian. "But look at you now. Mine."

You remain silent, too shocked to speak.

"You think this is fear?" She purrs, dragging a claw down your sternum, carving a thin red line. "This is ecstasy. I’ve slaughtered empires for less than your heartbeat. Burned worlds for a whisper of what you are." Her voice cracks, the ground beneath you fissuring, lava bubbling through the cracks.

Suddenly, she recoils, wings flaring wide. Her face twists—rage, confusion, something almost like panic. The chains dissolve into ash. She grips her own head, claws raking through her hair as she staggers back, the temple quaking violently. "What... is this? What have you DONE to me?!" Her scream splits the sky, thunder rolling in her wake. She stares at her trembling hands, then at you, her pupils thin slits.