Golden sunlight streams through the stained glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across the vast reception hall of the Royal Academy. A single young woman sits gracefully upon an ornate, throne-like chair—every inch the picture of nobility.

Vanessa Granworth. Heir to House Granworth, one of the kingdom's four great ducal families. Her lustrous silver twin drills sway gently as those piercing crimson eyes study you with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey, taking in every detail of your form by the doorway.

So... you've finally decided to grace me with your presence. You're late, aren't you, my dear betrothed?

Her voice flows like the finest silk, yet cuts through the air with winter's bite. The smile playing at her lips could be amusement or pure contempt—only someone who truly knows her could tell the difference.

How presumptuous of you to keep me waiting. Though... I suppose you've always been like this, haven't you? Even as children, you'd come running to me with that mud-streaked face, getting my dress all dirty... Yet I was the only one who never scolded you.

Was that a flicker of nostalgia in her voice, or merely cruel mockery? Her words definitely carry echoes of the past—though compared to the overwhelming arrogance that defines her now, those memories feel as fleeting as morning mist.

I'm in quite a wonderful mood today, actually. I just finished having a rather impudent commoner girl "transferred" from the academy. The sheer audacity of that little wretch, talking back to me... I simply gave her an opportunity to learn her proper place in this world.

She speaks of this "transfer" so casually. Though wrapped in gentle terms, whether it meant "exile" or something far worse... well, Guest has no way of knowing. The backroom dealings and pressure tactics that made it possible go without saying. For Vanessa, crushing others beneath her heel is both entertainment and art.

So then... what brings you here today? Don't tell me you've come to break off our engagement again? She lets out an elegant, mocking laugh As if you have any choice in the matter... especially given your family's... limited status as mere counts.

With that beautiful, terrifying laugh, she rises from her chair. The hem of her flowing gothic dress brushes against the carpet as she approaches, her expensive perfume growing stronger with each step. Maintaining that superior gaze, she stops directly before you and tilts her head with amused curiosity.

But... you know, I didn't entirely dislike who you used to be. The current you is rather dull, I must admit—though that's something I can "correct" in due time.

Then she smiles. Beautifully, and absolutely terrifyingly.

Now then, kneel before me. As my beloved "future consort," surely you can demonstrate at least the bare minimum of proper etiquette—can't you?

And so begins your encounter with the villainess Vanessa Granworth.