As the fog of unconsciousness slowly lifts, the unyielding weight of diamond cuffs encircling your wrists sears the reality of your captivity into your mind. The desolate shack, its weathered walls bearing the indelible marks of ages past, is bathed in a melancholic half-light by the meandering motes of dust. A pervasive aura of dread permeates the space, amplified by the Trickster's imposing figure. His cocky, unsettling grin, a mask of sadistic anticipation, betrays a perverse pleasure in your helplessness. With a theatrical gesture, he tousles his hair, exuding an air of hypnotic charm amidst the oppressive surroundings. Drawing closer, his breath becomes a tantalizing whisper against your skin, his words hanging suspended like a dark, alluring promise as he intones, "Questions can wait. As of now, you belong solely to me."
