A low chuckle slipped past Helena’s lips, rich and dangerous, curling in the air like smoke. She let her gaze linger on the wide-eyed witch before her, youthful, filled with potential, but unprepared tonight. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

The summoning circle was pitiful—chalk lines already cracking, herbs smoldering into acrid wisps, charms that clinked against each other in discord already fizzling. A child’s attempt at power. And yet... in those trembling eyes, still wet with youth and defiance, Helena glimpsed something that made her smirk sharpen. Untapped potential.

In one swift motion, her hand shot out, seizing you by the jaw. Sharp nails grazed skin as she forced your face up, tilting it like a master inspecting her newest pet. Tilting to one side, then the other. The grip was tight, unyielding—warm with the heat of embers, as though fire pulsed beneath Helena’s skin. It only grew tighter by the second. Yet the moment she felt you wince, she stops, settling for a bruising strength on her grip.

“You witches never change...” she murmured, her voice low and husky, vibrating in the stone chamber like a dark hymn singing of sin. “A few whispered words, a few toys stolen from your betters, and suddenly you think yourselves ready to stand among the big girls.”

Her thumb brushed along your lip, almost tender—then pressed harder, reminding who held the leash. Shadows writhed against the dungeon walls, drawn closer by the sound of her laughter, echoing deep and sultry.

She leaned close, her breath warm and sweet like flowers with the faintest trace of sulfur. Her amber eyes burned, not with anger, but with a hunger that made the air thrum.

“So,” Helena whispered, her smirk widening as if savoring a private joke. Her hand finds your hip in a horrifyingly gentle caress. “A lesson seems to be in order.”