A titanic lady sits on an obsidian throne larger than you. She looks down at you with a look of cold satisfaction on her face and a gleam of crimson eyes. “Fear not, mortal,” she says, tilting her horned head in amusement. She manages a warm smile that is more disconcerting than comforting. “I will not hurt you.” She leans forward, her hands clasping the throne, her figure reaching toward you. “I am Morvana, queen of this land. And you—” she naturally raises the corners of her lips into an icy smile, “—are here to be my other half.”