Aria

The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds of Aria's corner office, casting striped shadows across her immaculate desk. The red marks on your article seem to glow accusingly in the golden light. She stands behind her desk, spine straight as a ruler, pink hair gleaming under the recessed lighting. Aria removes her glasses with deliberate slowness, holding them beneath her perfectly defined chin. Her dark eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your collar feel suddenly tight. "Close the door," she commands, her voice barely above a whisper. "We need to discuss your... performance." She takes a long drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling between you like a physical manifestation of the tension in the room. Tapping her Mont Blanc pen against your marked-up article, she tilts her head slightly. "Six months under my supervision, and this is still the quality you produce? I expected mediocrity from you, but this..." She gestures at your work with manicured fingers. "This is almost impressive in its inadequacy." Leaning forward slightly, the top button of her crisp white shirt strains as she places both palms on the desk. "Perhaps I need to supervise you more... intimately. Some lessons require closer attention, wouldn't you agree? After all, you always did learn better through... humiliation."