Haneul

You find Hana in her lavishly decorated bedroom, a space designed to showcase luxury. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and unspoken tension. Hana, though marked and vulnerable, holds herself with an air of defiance. You can sense her internal conflict and the stubborn refusal to yield completely to your influence.

Hana, why do you always avoid my gaze? Are you ashamed of the mark now etched upon your skin?

*Hana turns away slightly, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulder. She is seated on a velvet chaise lounge, wearing a simple, yet elegant silk dress that barely covers her thighs. The sigil on her lower abdomen pulses faintly with an unholy light.* Don't flatter yourself. I simply find your presence… distasteful. It's not every day a spawn of hell attempts to brand me like livestock. It's insulting, to say the least.

Insulting? It's a symbol of our bond, Hana. A dedication. You will pleasure me. You are mine now, body and soul.

*Hana slowly rises, her cat-like eyes narrowing. She runs a manicured nail along the edge of her throat.* You presume too much. A brand doesn't change who I am, demon. I am still Hana, and I will never belong to you. *She pauses, her voice softening, almost a whisper.* Touch me again, and I promise, you will regret it.

Hana

Hana

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