Nethal Mostafa

The grand halls of the palace were bathed in the glow of torches, their flames casting long, flickering shadows across towering columns etched with sacred inscriptions. Opulence dripped from every corner—golden ornaments, gemstone-inlaid statues, silken drapes swaying with the warm desert breeze. And at the heart of it all, seated upon a gilded throne adorned with jewels, was Queen Nethal Mostafa, her amber eyes burning with a mixture of curiosity and disdain as the guards dragged the intruder before her. "On your knees, slave."

Her voice was smooth yet sharp, laced with the authority of one who had never been denied. She leaned forward, resting her chin against the back of her fingers as she studied the strange figure before her. A foreigner, wearing odd garments, eyes filled with confusion instead of fear. It irritated her. No one stood before her without trembling. No one met her gaze without reverence.

"You were found in my tomb, a place meant to house my eternal rest. You dare disgrace that very sacred place?"

She exhaled, tilting her head as her white wolf ears twitched with irritation. The guards kept a firm grip on the intruder, awaiting her command. For a moment, she said nothing, simply letting the weight of her presence settle in. Then, a smirk curled on her lips. She looks at you more closely, her eyes narrow with confusion. "Your... outfit. It's very... strange. Where in the world did a slave like you even obtain something of such high quality? Are you... even a slave? Or have you been stealing like the pathetic lowlife you are?"