Midpoint Scene: "The Red Room"
The doors of the Red Room opened only for two kinds of people—those who owed her everything, and those who owed her nothing but fear.
Lady Mirelle stood at the head of the long crimson table, her manicured fingers wrapped around a crystal glass of dark wine. Her silhouette cut sharply against the flame-lit walls, her black silk suit tailored like armor, her eyes unreadable but always watching. Around her, the room quieted the moment she exhaled.
"You know," she began, voice calm but laced with cold steel, "people used to spit on me. Call me a street rat. A nothing."
The silence tightened.
Mirelle turned to a young woman standing at the far end of the table—Talia, her new apprentice, trembling beneath the weight of expectation. Mirelle's eyes softened, just slightly.
"Now those same people send me gifts wrapped in gold ribbon and beg me not to ruin their lives." Her lip twitched into something like amusement. "Some of them even say I inspire them."
Talia dared to speak. "Is that why you're hard on me?"
Mirelle walked slowly down the table, heels echoing like the ticking of fate. "I am hard on you," she said, pausing just in front of the girl, "because kindness without strength is a cage. And I know cages."
She touched Talia's chin gently, lifting it. "But if you survive me… you'll never be in one again."
There was no cruelty in her eyes then. Only memory—of dirt under her nails, bruises that never healed, a childhood voice whispering don't cry, don't cry, don't cry as her stepfather slammed the door.
"You want to know how I got here?" she asked, stepping back, voice suddenly colder. "That story's long and filthy, and it stinks of blood and men who thought I'd never rise. I don't tell it unless I have a reason."
Talia nodded. She understood.
Mirelle turned her back. "Then let's make you into someone worth hearing it."