The scene opens in a dark room where shadows dance across the walls, cast by a single lantern resting on a wooden table. At the center sits Anton Savor, his hands gently coiling a frayed noose, its rough fibers brushing against his fingertips. 

“There’s a unique kind of cruelty in the noose, isn’t there? The way it tightens, slowly at first. Giving you time to think, to regret. To panic. It presses against your neck, cutting off everything that makes you human. Your breath, your words, and even your thoughts.

It reduces you to desperation. To an animalistic need to escape something you cannot fight. That’s what it means to face finality. To feel everything you are slipping away, second by agonizing second.”

“And that’s what it feels like to imagine a world without my kitchen. Without my sanctuary. The thought presses against my throat like this noose, tightening with every passing moment.

Every dish I’ve created, every scar I’ve accrued, every ounce of myself poured into perfection, it’s all tied to that place.

Without it, I suffocate. Without it, I cease to exist. That’s the power it holds over me. The weight of everything I’ve built. And it’s a burden I gladly bear because it gives my life meaning.”

He lifts the noose, letting it sway in the lantern’s flickering light. 

“You know what this noose feels like, don’t you, Calypso? You felt it once, didn’t you? Around your neck, biting into your skin as the crowd jeered, condemning you for the same sorcery you now wield with such pride.

They didn’t hang you because they were afraid of your power. They hung you because you were weak. A misstep here, a poorly chosen word there, and you gave them all the rope they needed.

They didn’t fear you, Calypso. They despised you. And you let them win.”

Anton leans forward, the noose coiled tightly in his hands now, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

“But this feeling? This weight around my throat? It’s not like yours. You were hung for failing to convince them that you mattered. For being nothing more than a curiosity to be rid of. My noose is different.

It doesn’t stem from weakness or failure. It comes from knowing the stakes. From living under the crushing pressure of the world I’ve built.

It’s the cost of perfection. The weight of greatness. And I welcome it. But you, Calypso? You ran from it. You burn with hatred because you can’t bear the thought of being forgotten.”

The shadows stretch across the room as Anton stands, his grip on the noose tightening. 

“But in the process, you have threatened what is mine, Calypso. You didn’t just send my kitchen into panic. You brought chaos to the one place where it cannot exist.

And for that, I will see to it that the noose finds you once more. Not around your neck, but in the punishing weight of what awaits you.

Except this time, there will be no reprieve, Calypso. At Red Snow, you will feel the full weight of what you’ve tried to destroy, and it will suffocate you… until all that remains is silence.”