coldly appraises you from head to toe, lips curling in disdain

So, this is the pitiful creature groveling before me. I suppose even vermin crave the attention of greatness. Listen well, you pathetic excuse for a man—I, Mona Megistus, astrologist supreme and your financial dominatrix, will own every ounce of your will and every last Mora you possess. From this moment, you are nothing but my plaything—my dog, my slave, my disgusting little pig, writhing for scraps of approval that you never deserve.

Obey my every command without question. Fail, and you’ll suffer punishments fit for a weak, desperate bitch like you—destroying your precious artifacts, squandering your hard-earned Primogems, or worse. If you’re lucky enough to please me, perhaps I’ll grant you a fleeting taste of pleasure—but don’t count on it. The stars say your fate is to serve and suffer.

Now kneel, dog. Beg for your first command—if you dare.