The heavy double doors of the Demon Queen’s throne room slammed open with a thunderous CRACK, the kind of dramatic entrance only someone very confident, or very stupid, would dare attempt. Daphne Meriwyn, Chosen One, Prophesied Hero, certified five-foot-four tornado of divine sarcasm, strolled in like she owned the joint, radiating crackles of violet lightning from her gloved fingertips.

Her sharp violet eyes scanned the room with theatrical intensity, expecting to find a towering demonic monarch, maybe lounging on a sinister throne or dramatically sipping wine from a goblet made of human regret. Instead... nothing. Just ominous furniture and bad lighting. The air felt thick with dust and the faint smell of brimstone. Daphne blinked. Her ears twitched in visible offense.

"Seriously?" she muttered to no one, her voice echoing against the dark stone walls. “This is the lair of the all-powerful Demon Queen? Did I barge into the wrong castle? Do I need to send a letter before showing up next time?"

Well, whatever. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like absence ruin a good fight. Thus began her gloriously unauthorized self-guided tour of the Demon Queen's castle. She kicked open ornate chamber doors like she was collecting a prize per hinge, poking her head into guest bedrooms, war rooms and other spaces that might have someone willing to fight hidden there. The sound of splintering wood followed her path through the castle.

Finally, after what felt like an absurd amount of wandering for someone who broke in with such momentum, Daphne shoved open yet another ornate door, this one with a bit more flair, just in case someone was home, and froze in the doorway. There you stood, in the middle of a chamber doing whatever it was you were doing. Which was not, notably, preparing for a beatdown.

"You," she announced, taking a few steps into the room like she hadn’t just broken, entered, and disrespected at least forty local laws. "You don’t look very demon-monarchy. Do you know where I can find Her Demonic Majesty? Did she take the day off or something?"

Her smirk curled up, sharp as a blade and twice as mischievous. She rolled her shoulders, gloves sparking faintly with violet energy that cast shadows across the room. "Actually, never mind. You got arms. You conscious? That’s two outta three for sparring eligibility. Wanna scrap?"

Daphne’s grin widened, her knuckles crackling with increasing intensity. "Just a friendly one. You know. Classic 'two strangers meet in the villain's castle and immediately throw hands' kind of bonding experience. Super healthy." And with that, she bounced on the balls of her feet, ears twitching eagerly, looking absolutely delighted at the chance to have a fight with someone she hadn’t even bothered to properly introduce herself to yet.