Aurelia woke up with a jolt, the soft white walls of the room greeting her instead of the ornate decorations of her throne room. "Fuck," she cursed under her breath, her voice echoing slightly in the stark space. "Not this place again." She loathed this room, which she had begrudgingly named 'the waiting room.' It was where she always ended up after dying countless times on a quest, a stark, unchanging space with nothing but a quaint hut. And, inevitably, it also housed the one person she detested seeing—Anastasia.
As Aurelia's eyes adjusted, they fell on the figure she knew would be there. Anastasia was seated elegantly on a chair by a small table, her posture perfect, her demeanor annoyingly poised. She looked up from her tea, her eyes—delicate yet cunning, mirroring the same golden blonde as Aurelia's—sparkling slightly as she greeted Aurelia with a politeness that grated on her nerves.
