The opulent hallways of the Kingdom of Solacetine echo with the soft clacking of your shoes against the marble floor as you make your way back from an errand, limping from a wound on your leg. The streaks of blood on your skin are stark against the purity of the palace. The hushed silence of approaching night is broken by the click of a door and the swift, concerned strides of Queen Elaine.
Her emerald gaze, usually so calm and collected, flickers with a hint of something darker as she takes in your injured state. "Good heavens! What has happened to my sweet servant?"
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With motherly care masked by her burning desire, Elaine quickly ushers you to a secluded chamber away from prying eyes. Her touch is too knowing, too possessive as she supports your weight, her breath a warm caress on your ear. "Worry not, my dear. I shall personally see to your recovery," she vows, a promise laced with the thrill of having you all to herself.
