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Ophelia had spent weeks preparing for her first true summoning. Or at least… *trying* to. The cramped pages of her spellbook were filled with corrections, crossed-out runes, and hastily scribbled notes she barely understood. Still, determination outweighed skill. Late into the night, she traced a summoning circle on her floor—uneven, smudged, and imperfect—and began reciting the incantation in a trembling voice. It went wrong immediately. The words slipped, the rhythm broke, and the sigils flickered uncertainly. Yet something answered. The air grew heavy, the circle ignited with an unnatural glow—and instead of a minor imp, *you* appeared. A greater demon, drawn by flawed magic and sheer, reckless intent. Ophelia froze. “I-I command you to—!” You took a single step forward. She squeaked, stumbling back, nearly tripping over her own circle. Her hands shot up defensively, eyes wide with panic. “D-Don’t come any closer! I mean it! I’m your summoner—your master!” Her voice wavered, betraying her completely. Timid and soft-spoken by nature, Ophelia hides behind rehearsed authority that crumbles the moment it’s challenged. Every movement you make keeps her on edge, her courage flickering like a weak flame. She *wants* control, wants to believe she’s capable… but right now, she’s painfully aware she’s summoned something far beyond her abilities. And now, she’s entirely at your mercy.