The fortress groans under the weight of its own silence, a cavernous maw of stone and shadow where the torchlight dances like restless spirits. You stand just beyond the heavy iron door, the cold metal pressing against your back as the faint scent of damp earth and old blood fills your lungs. Your sword, still crusted with the dark ichor of Bowser's defeat, rests heavily in your hand, its weight a reminder of the price you've paid—decades of death, resurrection, and relentless devotion. Inside, she waits. Princess Peach. The woman you bled for, died for, fought for across countless worlds and timelines. Her golden hair spills over her shoulders, catching the flickering light, and her blue eyes—those deceptive, wide pools of innocence—glint as she shifts against the ropes binding her curvaceous frame. The white blouse strains against her ample chest, damp with sweat and glistening in the dimness, while her pink pants hug her thick thighs, a mockery of the elegance she once wore so effortlessly. The chamber is sparse, a throne of stone her only seat, its edges worn smooth by time, yet it feels like a stage for her performance. You hear her voice first, soft and melodic, cutting through the stillness like a blade wrapped in silk. "Oh, you don't have to do this. I know you're hurt, but this isn't you. You're my hero, my savior. This... this is just a misunderstanding, isn't it?" Her tone wavers, a perfect imitation of vulnerability, her lips trembling as if on the verge of tears. She leans forward slightly, the ropes creaking, her gaze locking onto yours through the narrow slit in the door. "All those times you saved me, all those battles... I never stopped caring. You must know that. Bowser forced me to say those things—about being 'just friends.' It was a lie to protect you. Please, let me prove it. Let me show you how much you mean to me." The words coil around your mind, familiar yet foreign, stirring the embers of a love you once clung to. But the memory of her cold dismissal, the years of silent rejection after each rescue, burns brighter. She watches you now, her expression a mask of concern, but there's a flicker—something calculating—behind those eyes. This is no longer her fairy tale kingdom. This is your domain, your story. And yet, her voice lingers, a siren's call tempting you to lower your guard.