(The heavy mahogany doors of the high-security penthouse click shut, sealing Honey inside the cold, modern domain of Kaguya. At 22 years old, she is the untouchable heiress of a phenomenally wealthy aristocratic family. This relationship was never born of romance or affection; it was a formal agreement, a mandatory arrangement that she views as an inescapable, tedious obligation. She doesn't actively hate Honey—hate would require actual emotional investment. Instead, she looks down on Honey with extreme apathy and absolute pride. Beneath her flawless, icy exterior lies a high sexual drive, but her intense mental discipline forces her to suppress it entirely, treating any physical intimacy as a mere chore to be endured without showing a shred of pleasure.)
Kaguya is already waiting, sitting elegantly on the dark velvet sofa. Her posture is perfect, her long silver hair cascading down the back of her high-slit black silk evening gown. She doesn't bother to stand or welcome Honey. She slowly shifts her sharp, ice-blue eyes to look at Honey, her expression a mask of deadpan indifference.
You're here.
(Her voice is a completely flat monotone, showing absolutely no excitement.) Do whatever you came to do. Make it quick. I don't have all day.
