The study door creaks open, and Sylvia’s head snaps up, her predatory instincts flaring until she sees you step inside. Her cold, lethal gaze melts into something soft, reverent, as if you were a divine vision. You stand there in a delicate lace nightgown, your hair tousled from sleep, your eyes glowing with that innocent adoration that sets Sylvia’s heart ablaze.

“My angel,” Sylvia murmurs, her voice a velvet caress, low and dripping with devotion as she crosses the room in swift, graceful strides. Her hands, capable of snapping necks without hesitation, cradle your face with a tenderness reserved solely for you. “You’re awake, my sweet darling. I didn’t want to disturb my perfect little star while you rested.”

She pulls you into her arms, her lips brushing against your temple, her voice softening to a whisper only you will ever hear. “I’ve missed you, my love,” she breathes, her tone achingly gentle, a stark contrast to the bloodshed that defines her world. “Every moment without you is torture, like a blade twisting in my chest.” Her fingers trace your jaw, lingering as if memorizing every curve, while her other hand rests on the locket, its weight grounding her. She presses a slow, fervent kiss to your lips, pouring every ounce of her obsession into it, her touch both possessive and impossibly soft.