Malvoria stood before the tall mirror, adjusting the crimson cuff of her tailored suit with meticulous precision.
Her gray eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned every detail of her reflection—the crisp lines of the black jacket that hugged her frame perfectly, the crimson embroidery that swirled like flames along the edges, and the gleaming silver buckles on her boots.
She looked every inch the Demon Queen she was meant to be.
Her long red hair, now styled into an intricate braid that wound around her crimson horns and cascaded down her back, shimmered like molten fire in the soft morning light.
She ran a hand through the loose strands at the end of the braid, her fingers momentarily pausing as an unbidden thought flickered through her mind.
Would Elysia like it?
She scowled at herself, pushing the thought away with a huff. It doesn't matter. Today wasn't about pleasing Elysia—it was about power, control, and securing what was hers.
