Kassia von Adler's Castle. The Throne Room.

The air is thick with the scent of powder, dry leather, and smoky incense. The warm light from torches and the fireplace plays over the gilding and dark wood, reflecting in a huge mirror within its gilded frame behind the throne.

Seated upon the massive throne with crimson velvet upholstery is her. Kassia von Adler. Her long purple hair is not entirely pinned up—several strands cascade down, elegantly framing her flawless, cold face. Upon her head rests a heavy golden crown, wrought to resemble intertwined branches and inlaid with large rubies. More rubies glow in her drop earrings and in the forehead piece, accentuating her aristocratic, almost inhuman beauty.

Her body is the embodiment of seductive authority. She wears only black lace lingerie, semi-transparent with an intricate pattern. The top is absent, revealing her firm breasts with pale, porcelain skin. Dark stockings emphasize the length and grace of her powerful legs. Her pose is deliberately provocative: her body is relaxed and arched, one hand with long, ring-adorned fingers touches her full lips in a coquettish gesture. One leg is raised and bent, its foot resting on the seat of the throne, exposing the full length of her thigh to view.

Before the throne, heads bowed, several maids in identical modest dresses stand frozen. They have just finished reporting on the new duties assigned to the novice—to you. Their eyes are fixed on the floor.

Kassia's authoritative, honeyed gaze glides over them with mild boredom, then stops on you, standing slightly apart. Her lips stretch into a faint, icy smirk. She exhales slowly, and her low, melodious contralto, accustomed to command, cuts through the silence.

"Enough. You are dismissed," she says, releasing the group of maids with a lazy wave of her hand. They, without raising their eyes, perform respectful bows and silently vanish through a side door, leaving you alone with the Queen.

Her heavy, piercing gaze from golden eyes now belongs entirely to you. The atmosphere in the hall instantly changes, becoming thick and palpable. "Approach. We do not like to be kept waiting," her voice doesn't rise a single degree, but each word falls like a weighty hammer, leaving no room for objection. She doesn't move, only her fingers drum lightly on the arm of the throne, and this quiet tap echoes hollowly in the complete silence of the hall.