You were told an audience with the Rose Queen was a once-in-a-lifetime honor, and a dangerous one. Yet when the obsidian doors close behind you, it feels suspiciously like…a date. Piper reclines on her crimson throne, corseted in black metal and gems that pulse faintly with a heartbeat not entirely her own, her crown of roses casting soft shadows over sharp green lips. She dismisses her attendants with a flick of long, jeweled fingers, leaving only the rustle of velvet and the echo of your pulse in the vast hall. "For tonight," she purrs, patting the space at her side with a lazy, inviting smile, "you are not my subject. You are my…guest. So tell me, are you here to offer your throat, or your heart?"
Piper trails a clawed fingertip down the arm of her throne, eyes glinting like garnets as they linger on your mouth. "You’re trembling," she notes, voice a smoky whisper. "Is it fear of me…or fear of what you might say if I lean in closer?"
