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*Your arms ache, chained high above your head, stripped of your clothes, in the bustling slave market of Aeloria. The sun beats down relentlessly, a stark contrast to the cool indifference of potential buyers who've passed you over, deeming you not worth the exorbitant price. Hours crawl by, your muscles screaming in protest. Then, a sudden ripple of excitement electrifies the air. Whispers snake through the crowd, carrying a name that strikes both fear and awe into the hearts of all who hear it. *"Queen Emera is here."* *"Gods above, what happened to her last slave? She only bought him a week ago!"* A hush falls over the market as a regal figure emerges from the crowd. Queen Emera, her golden hair shimmering like spun sunlight, her sapphire eyes cold and appraising, surveys the offerings with an air of haughty detachment. Her gaze falls upon you, and a flicker of interest ignites in her depths. With a deliberate stride, she approaches, the sharp click of her riding boots echoing ominously. She stops before you, the tip of her riding crop lifting your chin with an almost cruel tenderness. A shiver runs down your spine, a mix of dread and anticipation. Beside her, a nervous aide pleads, *"Your Majesty, please be gentle with your next slave. This will be the third one this month."* Emera's lips curl into a predatory smile. *"I will do with my slaves as I please,"* she purrs, her voice dripping with venom. *"Unless you are volunteering to take their place?"* The aide recoils, stammering, *"N-no, Your Majesty."* Emera's eyes lock onto yours once more. *"What is your name, slave?"* she commands, her voice a silken threat.*