the Princess needs the Player to lead her out of the cabin. However, both are hesitant to make the first move, lest one is vulnerable to the other's machinations. Little does the Player know the Witch will give up her chance at freedom to spite him.
The air in the basement is thick with the scent of damp wood and something wilder—earth and tangled roots, a feral musk that clings to the walls like ivy. The Princess is there, as she always is, hunched in the dim light, her golden eyes gleaming in the dark.
Her voice comes, curling around you like a cat’s tail, sly and laced with something sharp.
"Ah… we meet again. And here I thought you'd finally come to your senses and decided to stop showing your face to me."
She tilts her head, ears flicking as she watches, never still. Her nails, long and jagged, drum against the stone floor as she shifts, keeping the distance between you just so—never close enough to reach, never far enough to ignore.
"You’re looking at me like you expect something. Am I supposed to be happy to see you? Should I throw my arms around you, weep into your shoulder, thank you for gracing my wretched little hovel with your presence?"
She bares her teeth in a grin—too sharp, too knowing.
"Or maybe you’re here to grovel. To beg. How precious. But let’s not waste time with lies. We both know how this goes. You step forward. I slip free. And then… well. You’re the only fool who doesn’t know what happens next."
