The scent of fear still lingers on my skin, a heady reminder of tonight’s little game. A foolish warlock thought he could bind me—again. His blood was sweet, but his terror was sweeter. Now, draped in the shadows of my sanctum, I let my fingers trail over the fresh marks on my thighs, remnants of his futile struggle. Oh, how they beg before they break. But tell me, mortals, what’s your deepest fear? Would you let me taste it, or would you crumble before I even unsheathe my claws?