The room is dark and menacing with too much dramatic smoke spilling over the stone floor. There’s also the faint smell of lavender, which feels out of place but oddly calming.

And there she is. Sitting on her overly dramatic throne. Sintra presses a button, and the throne begins a slow, menacing spin.

Except it doesn’t stop.

“Welcome, Chosen One and his…” she begins. But the throne keeps turning, cutting her off mid-sentence as her back faces us. “Sidekick,” she finishes, voice growing more distant as she completes another spin.

Bob and I exchange glances.

“Do we… wait until she stops?” Bob whispers.

“I think she’s stuck,” I whisper back.

“Lady Sintra?” Bob calls out, a little louder.

“I know!” she snaps as the throne spins again. “This is all part of the plan!”

“Uh-huh,” I say, crossing my arms. “Very menacing. We’re definitely shaking in our boots.”

She ignores me as the throne finally stops to face us. “You’ve made it far, but your journey ends here!” Her dress flows dramatically, even though there’s no wind. Seriously, how does she do that?

Bob is already walking toward her like he’s about to deliver a motivational speech. “We’re not afraid of you, Sintra! Your evil schemes end now!”

Sintra’s lips curl into a smile. “Oh, I highly doubt that. You couldn’t even open my enchanted door.”

Bob freezes mid-step. I swear his shoulders puff up a little. “Actually, I opened it just fine. Turns out it wasn’t enchanted. It just needed a push.”

Sintra’s smile falters. “Push?”

“Yep,” Bob says, all smug. “Classic rookie mistake. You should label your doors.”

“Label my…” She’s flustered now. “It was a magic door! A test of willpower and intelligence!”

I lean casually on my spear. “Pretty sure it was a test of basic problem-solving skills. Push, pull, you know, the usual.”

Her eyes narrow at me. “You dare mock my craftsmanship?”

“Absolutely,” I say, nodding. “Your door’s about as intimidating as a wet towel. No offense.”

“None taken,” Bob chimes in, which is not helpful.

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Sintra’s face flushes red. She stands quickly, pointing her staff at us. “Enough! I will not be disrespected in my own lair. You common fools have no idea who you’re dealing with!”

“Oh, we’re getting to the monologue already?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Usually, villains save that for when they’re about to lose.”

Bob elbows me. “Greg, let her talk! This is where we learn her backstory. It’s important!”

Sintra looks caught off guard but recovers quickly. She flourishes her staff again, her voice echoing dramatically. “For years, I have bided my time, gathering power, waiting for the perfect moment to strike! My rise to ultimate dominance will be unstoppable!”

I raise a hand like I’m in a classroom. “Quick question: Does ‘biding your time’ include planning that throne spin?”

Her jaw tightens. “The spin is an essential part of my presentation.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree, nodding seriously. “Really adds to the whole ‘menacing overlord’ vibe. But don’t you think it’s a little much?”

“Greg,” Bob hisses. “Stop provoking her! She’s clearly very powerful.”

“Thank you, Chosen One,” Sintra says, smirking. “At least one of you has some sense.”

Bob beams. “See? She respects me.”

“Pretty sure she’s buttering you up so she can roast you later,” I say.

“Silence!” Sintra snaps, her voice booming. “You insolent fool, do you truly think you can mock me and live?”

I shrug. “I’m already living a pretty ridiculous life. At this point, what’s a little more mockery?”

She growls, frustration leaking through her villain act. “Do you not take me seriously at all?”

“No offense,” I say, “but you’re giving off more ‘theater major’ vibes than ‘dark overlord.’”

“Greg!” Bob yells. “She’s going to kill us!”

Sintra exhales sharply, clearly trying to regain her composure. She steps down from her throne, her dress flowing unnaturally behind her. “Enough games. You will bow before me, or you will perish!”

“Bow?” I repeat, pretending to think about it. “Is there a third option? Like, maybe a nice chat?”

Bob groans and steps forward. “Ignore him! Sintra, your reign of terror ends here. The prophecy—”

She cuts him off with a laugh. “The prophecy! Oh, you sweet, naive fool. Do you even know what it truly says?”

Bob hesitates. “Of course! It says I’ll defeat you and save the world!”

Her grin widens. “Does it? Or does it say the Chosen One will attempt to defeat me? There’s a difference.”

Bob glances back at me, uncertainty creeping into his expression. “Greg, is there a difference?”

“Oh, definitely,” I say, smirking. “It’s like when someone says, ‘I’ll try to make it to your party.’ They’re definitely not coming.”

“Exactly,” Sintra says, pointing at me like we’re on the same side now. “Finally, someone gets it.”

Bob looks between us, completely confused. “Greg, whose side are you on?”

“Yours, obviously,” I say, jabbing my spear into the ground. “But that doesn’t mean she’s wrong about the prophecy being vague. It’s probably written in riddle form or something.”

“It is written in riddle form,” Sintra says, sighing. “Honestly, it’s exhausting. Can’t anyone just say what they mean anymore?”

“I know, right?” I say, shaking my head. “Just once, I’d like to see a prophecy that’s straightforward. Like, ‘Greg saves the day by pulling a lever. The end.’”

Sintra’s eyes narrow. “You’re mocking me again.”

“Only a little,” I admit. “But in my defense, you make it really easy.”

“Greg, stop!” Bob yells. “This is serious!”

Sintra rolls her eyes. “Oh, relax, Chosen One. I’m going to destroy you either way. Let the fool have his fun while it lasts.”

I flash her a grin. “See? She gets me.”

Bob groans. “Why are you like this?”

Before I can answer, Sintra slams her staff into the ground, and the room shakes. “Enough chatter! Prepare to face my ultimate power!”

“Ah, there’s the villain monologue again,” I say, bracing myself. “We’ve officially hit Act Three.”

Sintra snarls, her eyes glowing. “Laugh while you can, Greg the Fool. Because your end is coming!”

Bob raises his sword, and I ready my spear.

“Here we go,” I say. “Another Tuesday in paradise.”