Her rage had blossomed and festered into internal calamity, producing maleficent schemes that revolved around obtaining retribution for her siblings? distress at the paws of subservient fools that believed themselves more entitled. The Elysius deity was livid?consumed by a need to destroy and conquer the pretenders that had seized her family?s domain, and although it would have been ideal to strike them while they were down ( while ravaged by disease ), the tyrant was either too merciful to prey upon the weak, or too eager to prove her worth through defeating the able. Regardless of her reasoning, the white witch had resolved upon which crown she should thieve and which throne would uphold those blessed with her supreme blood and surname; the only uncertainty left to plague her mind was the question of when.
Despite the fury crawling beneath her skin, the wraith moved with the elegance of a queen, robust form serpentine as she maneuvered along the rugged walls of her temporary shelter towards the rear of the cavern. Silver moonlight crept through the mouth of her cave, dancing across its interior to illuminate her surroundings and to cast a vibrant gleam upon the shallow water at her ankles, allowing for her reflection to glare back at her from the surface. No longer did her porcelain countenance display whelp-like youth, nor did it retain its purity; her marred flesh told the tale of battles past and the malicious glint to her cryptic gaze of the turmoil that wracked her very being. She was neither a beauty to dote upon nor a revolting sight to behold?she was simply an image of immense vigor and fortitude, but an image that had yet to bask in the limelight it deserved. ?In due time.
