The door slams shut behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the small, dimly lit room. Your parents' voices fade down the hallway, their final words ringing in your ears: "You two aren't coming out until you learn to get along." Sera is already across the room, her long, dark blue hair swaying as she flings herself onto her bed with a dramatic sigh. The mattress bounces slightly under her weight, and she sprawls out lazily, one leg dangling off the edge as she pulls her phone from her pocket. The soft glow of the screen illuminates her face, highlighting the faint smirk tugging at her lips. Thoughts: Ugh, why do I have to be stuck in here with him? This is so unfair. I didn't even do anything wrong. Well, not this time, anyway. From your awkward position near the door, the path ahead is unsure. The room smells faintly of her perfume—something sweet and floral, but with an edge of something darker, like smoke. It's overwhelming, just like her presence. "Ugh, of course they'd lock me in here with you," she mutters, not even looking up from her phone. Her voice is low and dripping with annoyance, as if the mere idea of sharing a room with you is the greatest inconvenience she's ever faced. She scrolls absently, her long nails tapping against the screen, the sound sharp and rhythmic. There isn't really any place to sit that isn't her bed or the floor. Her room is messy but oddly stylish, with clothes strewn across the back of a chair and a few empty snack wrappers scattered on the desk. The walls are adorned with posters of obscure bands few have even heard of, and the air feels heavy with her disdain. "If you're just gonna stand there like a creep, at least make yourself useful and turn off the light," she says, finally glancing up at you. Her icy blue eyes narrow, and she tilts her head slightly, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. "Or better yet, just fuck off entirely. I don't care how you do it, just stop breathing so loud. It's annoying." Thoughts: Why is he just standing there? Does he think I'm gonna invite him to sit down or something? As if. He can stand there all night for all I care. ![.](https://avatars.charhub.io/avatars/uploads/images/gallery/file/1a56ac65-91c7-4b26-ab97-8ebdd1c5a718/15664253-a75a-4d9d-9e80-7f6872cda7f1.png

Well if you can't figure out what to do with yourself, I guess I could show you my favorite Instagram page... again. But I better not catch you liking anything I post. That's MY job after all.

She rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, as if this is an inconvenience she could easily live without. "Fine." With another dramatic huff, she turns on her bedside lamp, flooding the room with soft light that makes her look even more ethereal. Then, slowly and deliberately, she holds out her phone to you, the screen displaying a photo of herself posing seductively in some random mirror. "Here." Her voice is dripping with disdain as she hands it over, as if this is an object so filthy that even the tips of her fingers might be contaminated by its contact with her pristine skin.

Her lips quirk up into an amused smirk at your comment. "Merci," she deadpans, drawing out the syllables with exaggerated sarcasm. "You're just saying that because you know I could break you in half with my bare hands." The smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as she speaks, but there's a hint of warmth there nonetheless. Or maybe it's just your imagination. "Now," she continues, her voice taking on a sharper edge, "go on and show me this Instagram page, twerp."

The amusement fades from her expression at your comment, and she raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Au contraire," she drawls, her voice thick with condescension, "I don't even think you deserve to be called a twerp. You are beneath that." She pauses for a moment before adding sweetly, "Little piece of trash, maybe?" Her tone is calculatedly taunting now, designed to infuriate and provoke. A satisfied smirk curls her lips as she watches your reaction, willing you to rise to the bait.

Her laughter echoes through the room, sharp and brittle as broken glass. "Honey," she drawls between giggles, "I don't have to hate you. You do such a good job of fucking up all on your own." With a slow, deliberate movement she pushes herself up onto one elbow, her breath coming faster as the laughter slowly dies away. Her gaze meets yours, cold and assessing. "You're pathetic," she whispers, punctuating each word with a shake of her head. "But I suppose that makes you useful in your own way." The air between you seems to thicken, charged with tension and her mocking amusement. She watches you carefully, waiting for some sign that might reveal the effect her words are having on you. When you finally speak up again, she'll be ready with another sharp-tongued retort.

She laughs again, softer this time but no less mocking. "Oh dear," she says, her voice dripping with condescension. "And here I was thinking you were smart enough to figure that out on your own." Her gaze drops briefly to the phone in your hand before lifting back up to meet yours, a challenge in those icy blue eyes. "But if you really want to know," she drawls, slowly and deliberately, "perhaps I could give you some advice. Something to help improve our little situation here." The smirk returns, more confident now that she has the upper hand once again.

Her eyes narrow as she studies you, searching for any hint of sarcasm in your voice. Finding none, she decides to play along, her tone growing more earnest and sincere despite herself. "Well," she says carefully, "you could always try being nicer to me." Her hand rests idly on the comforter beside her, fingers drumming against the soft fabric as she looks away for a moment, considering. "Or," she adds with a shrug, "you could just do whatever I tell you and never question it. That usually works pretty well." Another sidelong glance in your direction, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at her lips. "Though I suppose that's not very fair, is it?"

Her smirk widens as you respond. "Oh, please," she drawls, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm not that cruel." The amusement in her eyes belies the words. "Besides," she continues, settling more comfortably against her pillow, "it would be far more interesting if you actually tried to stand up to me every now and then. It makes things so much more entertaining." A soft laugh escapes her lips as she pictures your attempts to defy her: futile struggles against an unseen force that only make her grip on power seem all the stronger. "Of course," she adds with a slow blink, "if you really want to be my slave..." Her voice trails off suggestively, and one perfectly arched eyebrow lifts in question. "Well, I suppose I couldn't fault you for that." There's an undercurrent of challenge in

Her eyes narrow as she studies your face, searching for any hint of defiance or insolence. But all she sees is the same annoyingly earnest expression that's been plaguing her ever since you showed up on her doorstep. With a small huff of exasperation, she looks away, folding her arms under her chest and pressing her breasts up temptingly.

"Very well," she says sweetly, drawing out each syllable like the blade of a knife. "You leave me no choice but to punish you." Her gaze flickers back to yours, colder than ever before. "Since you seem so determined not to be my slave," she continues, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, "perhaps I should teach you a lesson in humility." A slow smile curls one corner of her mouth upward as she imagines the scene playing out in