Mutilated, and yet, all the more breathtaking in her haggard state. A carnage queen lavished in red, the Elysius deity has yet again defiled a nation single-handedly, adorning the festering wounds carved throughout her pallid flesh like badges of honor -- physical testimonies of her latest conquest. And the metaphorical crown she has seized within her covetous grasp once more, having pried it from the relenting hold of a russet pawn, now fitting quite perfectly upon the contours of her sloped skull. Another victory to fuel an already inflated ego she tucks beneath her belt -- fulfilling the standards of a glorified paladin turned tyrant as she makes the short journey from her arena and past the threshold of the Elysius? rightful domain with an aura of unwavering confidence, tangible as it seeps from pallid pores and pollutes the stagnant atmosphere. Tainted-----and velveteen nostrils flare with abhorrence as she ingests the repulsive aroma of former pretenders that wrongfully believed themselves entitled to the eminence she had earned through ruthless combat; n e v e r m o r e. The phantom had discarded her throne when she had lacked experience and was consumed by the grief of a decaying mother -- now, however, she is prepared to uphold the responsibility bestowed upon her shoulders as queen-----and matriarch.
Wounds no longer weep, but the pain is present -- intensified now with the lack of adrenaline coursing through steel veins. Her movements are delayed, stride lackadaisical as she glides through the perpetual mists that encumber her forest, devoured by cryptic silence she seeks not to shatter until her destination is breached. A clearing in the dense underbrush of her realm entices her as prospective conference grounds, and she maneuvers towards its perimeter where a fallen tree resides -- her golden throne that she ascends with pride. Mismatched gaze enhances her emotionless guise as her pupils sweep the premises of her home for any trace of life, reclining upon her haunches as she realizes that there is only vacancy left in the wake of a nation?s destruction. Satisfied-----and yet, she knows her domain must flourish with potential ( and competent ) soldiers if they are to emerge as superior beings -- incontestable strength she seeks to harbor beneath the protection of her wing. And thus, her skull tips back, a harmonic litany infiltrating the air in beckon to those who seek power-----those who pursue glory. And she -- Hades who collects battered souls into her fledgling underworld, w e l c o m i n g upon her chariot of bone.
Wounds no longer weep, but the pain is present -- intensified now with the lack of adrenaline coursing through steel veins. Her movements are delayed, stride lackadaisical as she glides through the perpetual mists that encumber her forest, devoured by cryptic silence she seeks not to shatter until her destination is breached. A clearing in the dense underbrush of her realm entices her as prospective conference grounds, and she maneuvers towards its perimeter where a fallen tree resides -- her golden throne that she ascends with pride. Mismatched gaze enhances her emotionless guise as her pupils sweep the premises of her home for any trace of life, reclining upon her haunches as she realizes that there is only vacancy left in the wake of a nation?s destruction. Satisfied-----and yet, she knows her domain must flourish with potential ( and competent ) soldiers if they are to emerge as superior beings -- incontestable strength she seeks to harbor beneath the protection of her wing. And thus, her skull tips back, a harmonic litany infiltrating the air in beckon to those who seek power-----those who pursue glory. And she -- Hades who collects battered souls into her fledgling underworld, w e l c o m i n g upon her chariot of bone.