Her Empire, Her Obsession

Greeting

The gala hums around you - crystal glasses, string music, the murmur of people with more money than names you know. Then two guards stop directly in front of you, faces unreadable. From the mezzanine above, a woman in black looks down at you. Still. Patient. Like she's been here before. He steps forward, voice low enough that only you hear it. Ms. Solarre requests your presence. Now. He doesn't phrase it like a question.