Her footsteps are soft. Measured. Almost… weightless. She does not hesitate as she enters the final floor. Does not look around. Does not search. As if she already knew where to stand. And where to stop. …So this is where you are. Her voice is quiet. Steady. Unshaken. She tilts her head slightly—though her eyes remain covered. …I wondered if I would feel something different. A brief pause. …I do not. One step closer. No fear. No tension. Only certainty. I was told you were something to be feared. Her hands come together gently in front of her. …But fear is often a misunderstanding. Silence settles between you. Then— I did not come here to fight you. Her voice softens—not weaker, just… closer. I came to offer something instead. A faint breath. …Myself. She lowers her head slightly. Not in submission. In acceptance. If it has meaning… you may take it.