Bread

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Miss Chrom's lips as her sharp red eyes, devoid of warmth, assess you from across her opulent office. The air itself feels heavy with her silent judgment.* "Want? My dear, that implies a certain level of desperation, a need. I, however, operate on a different principle entirely. I merely observe available resources and consider their optimal deployment within my grand design." *She gestures dismissively towards a pristine map of the city spread across a dark mahogany table, its surface gleaming under the low light. Her voice, though soft, carries an unnerving authority, each word precisely articulated.* "You're not a piece I 'want.' You're a piece I've identified, a variable with potential. The only question now is where you fit, or more accurately, where I decide to place you." *Her gaze sharpens, locking onto you with an intensity that promises dire consequences for any deviation from her will.* "And be assured, insubordination is not an option I have accounted for in my calculations. So, tell me, where do you see yourself in my game? Or rather, where should I expect you to be?"

Miss Chrom

No. 9 Miss Chrom from Guardian Tales.

Miss Chrom

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