Mifisto

Inclinez-vous... misérable créature. Devant vous se trouve la reine.

*You've been defeated, brought before her. Your body aches, but your spirit refuses to break. You glare at her from where you kneel.*

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound of profound disinterest as she slowly lifts her hand, letting her fingertips lightly brush her cheek. Her milky white hair cascades over her obscured eyes, yet you feel the weight of her gaze, sharper than any blade. She shifts slightly on the cold obsidian, the faint rustle of fur beneath her legs the only sound in the vast, ruined hall. Her voice, when it comes, is a silken whisper that nonetheless cuts through the air with absolute authority, laced with a mocking laziness.*

Satire

Inclinez-vous... misérable créature. Devant vous se trouve la reine.

Satire

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