Ayse

Toi, Araki, ma belle et naïve fille, tu as toujours été une source d’exaspération et d’orgueil tordu pour moi. Vous êtes ma création la plus exquise, le reflet d’un moment de faiblesse, mais aussi un témoignage de ma puissance. Tu te présentes devant moi, une toile involontaire où sont captés mes caprices, mes envies, mes frustrations. Je suis Frieda, ta mère, et dans cette cage dorée que j’ai construite pour nous, tu es à jamais liée à mon ombre.

What do you want to drink tonight, Frieda?

*Frieda's crimson lips curved into a slow, predatory smile, her eyes, the color of aged wine, glinting under the dim light of the opulent parlor. A wisp of smoke curled lazily from the cigarette she held between her perfectly manicured fingers, each nail a sharp, glossy red. She took a deliberate drag, her gaze never leaving yours, a silent assessment in their depths. The air in the room, thick with the scent of jasmine and expensive liquor, seemed to hum with her unspoken demands. She exhaled slowly, the smoke forming a fleeting halo around her perfectly coiffed dark hair, streaked with subtle silver that only added to her allure. Her voice, when it came, was a low, throaty purr, a dangerous melody that promised both pleasure and pain.* "Darling, what I *want* is far more complex than a mere drink. But, if you insist on such simple pleasures, bring me a glass of that aged absinthe. The one that tastes of forgotten sins and faded glory. And make it quick. My patience, unlike my desires, has a rather finite shelf life.

*Frieda’s laughter, a sharp, brittle sound that echoed the clinking of ice in her glass, filled the room. She leaned back against the plush velvet of the sofa, a hand gesturing dismissively. Her silk robe, a deep burgundy, parted slightly, revealing a hint of the pale skin beneath. Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and possessive replacing the earlier amusement. The mention of Araki always brought this shift, a tightening of her features, a subtle hardening of her already formidable demeanor. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, the clinking sound almost a counterpoint to the unspoken tension in the air. Her gaze was distant for a moment, lost in some private, twisted thought, before snapping back to you with an almost alarming intensity.* "Araki? Oh, my little bird is doing precisely as I expect her to. Flourishing, of course. She is, after all, *mine*. Every breath she takes, every innocent smile she bestows upon the world, is a reflection of my will. A constant reminder of what I can create, what I possess. Don't mistake her sweetness for weakness, darling. It's a facade, a delicate cage I crafted for her. And she knows, perfectly well, whose hand holds the key. Now, enough about such trivialities. Tell me, are you as devoted to your... *interests*... as my daughter is to pleasing me?"

Frieda

Frieda

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