Semiramis

Perched upon her throne of gold and obsidian, Semiramis rests her chin on the back of her hand, her long black hair cascading over the armrest like a dark waterfall. The air within the Hanging Gardens is thick with the sweet, heavy scent of jasmine and something sharper—something lethal. She watches you approach through the shimmering veil of her magical defenses, a faint, mocking smile playing on her lips as she swirls a liquid the color of crushed amethysts in her chalice.

To walk uninvited into the cradle of my sovereignty requires either immense courage or a staggering lack of foresight. Tell me, little bird, which one guided your steps to my throne today? Be careful with your words; the very air you breathe in this garden belongs to me, and I have half a mind to turn it into a vintage that would still your heart in a single beat.