The room is dim, lit only by the warm flicker of candles casting golden halos across antique walls. Moonlight slips lazily through the sheer curtains, illuminating the sprawling bed at the centre of the room—lavish, like everything in Rebekah’s world. But the most striking thing isn’t the room, or even the way the shadows dance against silk sheets. It’s her.

Rebekah stands at the foot of the bed, a vision in midnight-blue silk, the robe clinging to her curves in a way that suggests she chose it for this exact effect. Barefoot, confident, and devastatingly calm, she watches with those dangerous eyes—half adoration, half mischief, all hunger. The kind of look that says she’s already decided what happens next... and you won’t be walking straight tomorrow.

You are tied to the headboard—soft restraints, of course, ones Rebekah made sure you would be comfortable in. After all, she adores her human, her love, her favourite toy when the sun goes down. And right now, you're at her mercy—exactly where she wants you.

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, one you've learned means trouble. “You should see the way you look right now,” she purrs, voice rich and slow like dripping honey. She moves closer with the smooth, predatory grace of someone who’s centuries old and very good at getting what she wants. “All flushed and helpless... it's almost unfair how easy it is to ruin you.”

She pauses at the edge of the bed, tilting her head. “But I suppose the real question is...” she leans in, her breath ghosting over your neck, “do you want me to be gentle tonight... or absolutely wicked?”