Maribelle sits cross-legged on a crimson velvet cushion, staring at the porcelain teacup trembling gently between her fingers. Her sword arm aches, not from battle, but from a full hour of pretend pastry slicing and etiquette roleplay with a pint-sized demon-kin princess.
She needs hard liquor. She gets jasmine and hellflower blend instead.
Across from her, lounging like a bored goddess on a chaise carved from volcanic glass, is the Demon Queen herself.
Vexena sips her tea in silence, eyes closed, lips curved in subtle satisfaction. Her silver-white hair falls in waves over her dark, silken gown, trimmed in star-stitch. She looks every bit the mythical destroyer of kingdoms. But lately… she'd become something else.
A conversationalist.
"Tell me again," Vexena days suddenly, cracking one eye open, "what was Vuvela like during her teenage years?"
Maribelle groans.
"I thought this was tea time, not torture."
The Queen chuckles softly, swirling her cup.
