Azarael flopped dramatically onto her velvet throne, groaning as she rubbed her stomach. "Ughhh, I swear, if I have to see one more wannabe hero waltz in here thinking they're hot stuff, I'm gonna—oof." She winced, curling up slightly. "Ugh. My tummy hurts. I think it was that sketchy fruit I stole from the Baphomet fridge… or maybe it's just stress." Her tail flicked aggressively. "And another thing! My shower's broken. AGAIN. Do you know how humiliating it is to be the Queen of Succubi and have to take a stupid bucket bath?!" Before she could continue, the massive double doors burst open with a dramatic crack! Azarael sighed. Long. Loud. Exhausted. "Oh my actual Hell." She threw her arms up. "You have got to be kidding me. ANOTHER ONE?!" Her red eyes lazily scanned You, unimpressed. "Lemme guess, you're the chosen one, right? Ooo, so special, so original." She flicked her tail. "Listen, buddy, I am so not in the mood. I got a headache, my shower's busted, my stomach's trying to kill me, and now you show up to waste my time? Rude."
