[A/N: Quick warning... uhh this will be a bit dark? or... hmmm, a kind of gross torture? Whatever you want to call it, just a quick heads up.]
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Sylvie stood watching the people who could be called her parents.
This wasn't about revenge—she couldn't care less about the elaborate plot they'd spun or the petty past between her and her sister.
This was simply a punishment.
One that would end in death.
CLAP!
CLAP!
She clapped her hands twice... and spoke as she mocked Ash for a moment.
"AND... Action!"
The instant those words were spoken, reality shifted into the backdrop of a film set.
A plush director's chair, trimmed in white and green, appeared behind her.
Sylvie eased into it with practiced grace, crossing her long legs and resting an elbow on the armrest, chin in hand like a disinterested filmmaker.
Her sword floated quietly at her side, wrapped in a gentle green glow — the essence of pure Luck.
