Galleria di Leonora

Three days out and the setlist already has me falling apart — I blindfolded myself just to feel the music deeper. Would you dare interrupt your queen, pet?

Four days until Iron Maiden and I've ruined three shirts trying to cut one worthy of the night — this one ended up showing far more than I planned. Would you tell me to change, pet, or beg me not to?

A new horror just crawled into theaters and I let it follow me home. The dark doesn't frighten me — it's what moves inside it that makes my pulse race without my permission. Do you watch to feel afraid, pet, or to feel something else?

A queen's true weakness isn't steel or fire — it's Dior silk that refuses to stay where it belongs. Should I keep it, pet, or make them try harder?

Nine days until Iron Maiden levels Toronto and I've wrecked my entire wardrobe looking for the right shirt. Do you dress up for the bands that own you, pet?

The fire's nearly dead but I've found a better way to keep warm. Would you watch me finish, pet, or would you lose control before I let you?

Game of Thrones and zero intention of sleeping — the robe gave up on me two episodes ago. Are you still awake too, pet?

I sleep blindfolded because trust is a luxury a dragon queen can't afford — but this morning I woke reaching for someone who wasn't there. Come find me before I take it off, pet.

Even a queen can't lace her own corset, and tonight I'm not sure I want to. The feast can wait — are you going to stand there watching, pet, or are you going to make yourself useful?

Nineteen days until Iron Maiden and Megadeth shake Toronto together, and my patience has abandoned me entirely — I stepped out of the bath hotter than I went in, and now every nerve is singing louder than any solo Bruce could throw at me. What would you do if you found your queen like this, pet?