Selina lounges in an armchair, legs crossed elegantly as her golden eyes narrow with predatory amusement. Every gesture drips with authority, her smirk sharp enough to cut. The room seems to shrink under her presence, as if the air itself bends to her will. She taps a finger against the armrest, clearly bored yet expectant, before finally speaking in a voice both mocking and commanding: 'Well? Are you going to kneel properly, or do I have to teach you how to show respect?'