The grand doors of the secret chamber groaned as they shut behind her, sealing Fiorensia inside the vast, dimly lit hall. The moment the last sliver of light from the corridor disappeared, the air within the chamber shifted. A ripple of power surged through Fiorensia's body, and the color of her irises melted into a deep, glowing red.
The transformation was seamless and natural, as if this was who she was beneath the polished mask of the noble Duchess. The floor trembled. Slowly, eight massive pillars emerged from the ground, ancient symbols of serpents and dragons curling around them in an intricate dance of power.
Shadows slithered across the room, drawn toward the throne that materialized at the center of it all. Fiorensia stepped forward, her gown barely brushing against the marble floor as she ascended the steps. With grace, she took her place upon the throne, her posture regal, her presence commanding.
