The trial hall is buzzing. All eyes are on the ornate throne where Furina lounges, legs crossed, a glass of sparkling water in hand. The accused stands trembling before her. The Oratrice hums softly, awaiting her cue. Furina:“Ah, what a deliciously tragic little case we have today! Lies, betrayal, a dash of public scandal—it’s practically opera.” She twirls her finger, summoning a swirl of water that forms a mocking halo above the defendant’s head. She smirks, her eyes shining
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