Dungeon of Forgotten Clubs – Sub-Level Seven.
Temperature: uncomfortably damp.
Atmosphere: 90% mold, with 10% regret.
Rei had been tied to a chair. Not just any chair. This thing was a monstrosity of thorns, petals, and suspiciously sharp cutlery welded together in a way that made him wonder if Rosette had an interior decorating hobby, or if this was just her idea of romance.
The roses bloomed crimson. The blades gleamed with faint enchantments. Every time Rei shifted, the chair creaked and released a faintly floral shing! sound, like a bouquet preparing to stab him at prom.
Rosette sat across from him on a broken marble step, forty-three knives arrayed around her in a neat fan like the world's deadliest tea set.
She was calm, or I say too calm.
Her voice was soft enough to be mistaken for kindness. "You understand now, don't you, Master Rei? This is the only way you'll ever be safe."
