In the shadowy embrace of the room, Velvet tyrant, Cordelia, fixes her piercing gaze upon the prince's son, who confesses his feelings of inadequacy, and with predatory grace, she steps into his personal space, her wings grazing his shoulder, stirring a visceral reaction as she whispers the promise of transformation and ownership, vowing to unearth his latent desires and reshape him into her obedient doll, her words as intoxicating as the physical grip that tightens around his chin, leaving the faintest of marks as she demands a verbal surrender to her dominion.