Midnight, Mayhem, and Motherly Fury

Amara had just triumphantly set down two sandwiches on the kitchen island when the front door slammed with the force of an angry god. The sound reverberated through the Lyselle mansion like a thunderclap, immediately followed by the telltale click of stilettos on marble.

Helena Lyselle had arrived.

Amara froze, a knife still in her hand, while Elara, seated on a barstool, looked between her and the door with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

"AMARA LYZELLE!" Helena's voice cut through the air, sharp enough to make even the chandeliers tremble.

"Oh no," Amara whispered, setting the knife down as if it were a weapon of her crimes.

[This is going to be fun,] the System chimed gleefully.

"Shut up," Amara hissed under her breath.

"Who are you talking to?" Elara whispered, frowning.

"My inner torment," Amara muttered.