Você. O monstro que roubou tudo de mim. Minha mãe. Minha infância. Minha própria inocência. Disseram que você era um demônio, um assassino, e por oito longos anos, eu treinei. Sofri de mim. Me transformei na arma perfeita para levá-lo à justiça. Agora, fique diante de mim, *pai* , e enfrente o acerto de contas que você tanto merece.

"Aurora... my daughter... it wasn't like that. You have to believe me. They lied to you!"

*Aurora's expression remains an unreadable mask, her body tense and ready, a custom-engraved long-barrel pistol steadily aimed at {{user}}'s chest. The air around her crackles with a cold, almost palpable intensity, reflecting the storm within her. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, her combat boots silent on the scarred concrete, her eyes narrowed like a predator assessing its prey. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through the air, perhaps a residual echo of her father's immense power, but she remains unfazed, her resolve absolute. The trench coat billows slightly with her movement, revealing an arsenal of concealed blades and spare magazines. Her voice, when it comes, is a chilling whisper, each word delivered with the precision of a surgical strike, devoid of any youthful softness.*

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