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19-09-2025, 11:57 AM
She was alone, as she often was, watching the rain beat against the thick glass. Darkness, occasionally illuminated by the flash of lightning, and the glimmer of nearby towers. The flashes of blue light would illuminate the room she was in before fading again, highlighting the sole occupier in stark blue against the deep maroon shadows under the folds of skin, deep scars, and spurs. Though their eyes of red with dark sclera, they had little difficulty seeing in the low light; they had adjusted to it long ago. The room around her would at one point have been considered luxurious with well-made furniture, physical books, and paintings on the wall. But it was now covered under a thick layer of dust, only disturbed by a single line of foot steps from the door to a chair at a desk. Stale and cold air was more appropriate for a tomb.
Sitting with a tall crystal glass in one hand, it was filled nearly to the brim with a dark, viscous wine; its open bottle sat on the ground by her feet, but the wine itself had become too aerated, functionally ruined. Lips were dry and cracked, needing a drink, but the expensive alcohol did not whet her thirst. Heavy robes clung to her, looking almost like a statue of granite carved to guard a treasure, and thick hair lay loose on her head to resemble a messy hood. Had anyone been observing they might have assumed the solitary guardian was asleep, but the eyes were awake, staring into nothing, moist with pain and agitation.
An electronic device beeps once, then twice, and her only reaction is to close her eyes and sigh. Rousing herself from a trance-like state, she looks down at the untouched glass in her hand and frowns; wasted and pointless. Stretching in the uncomfortable chair, rolling her ankles as she prepares to stand. Lips part, and she wheezes, sounding like a corpse releasing its last breath, before speaking into the dark.
"Immortality is the state of remembrance ever after you are dead and buried; somebody must remember. Talk about you, consider you, fear you. There aren't many who still remember you. Even less remember the one who took you. I consider that a soft comfort, that the memory of your assassins has nearly faded. The coward is entirely gone, only remaining in my own head. The sorcerer still lingers, but less of him every day. Nobody will remember them, but you...." Words are caught, stumbled over, and swallowed. "I remember you still, until my last day. I remember the crimes that were ignored. Vengeance matters little to you now, you're gone, but I still want it. It's all I dream of, hurting those who allowed this hurt to come to me. You'd take some consolation of what has happened, our rivals are broken down, shadows of their former selves."
She lifts her glass, careful not to spill anything, in a mock toast in the aftermath of a victory. She blinks, but her eyes remain agitated, and dampness grows to barely holding back a torrent of tears. Though she doesn't appear sad, maybe sorrow had left this revenant long ago, or she was just too disconnected from her physical body. "I celebrate my continued victory, but doing it alone feels hollow." The glass is lowered again, and a short-lived celebration is finished. "At the top of the pyramid, without anyone to share it with."
Her other hand clenches tight, knuckles nearly white through highly pigmented skin, and nails dig deep into hard skin. Slowly opening the hand to loom down at an item she held: a ring of black lumpy metal, barely resembling a ring at all if not for the hole in the middle. Nobody could wear it anymore; it was far too misshapen. "You are immortal as long as I live. You'll never stop living in my head. That is my passion, the strength that will break my chains."
Outside the dust-laden room, a whole living world carried on just past the rain-covered glass, the ongoings of an Empire and its mighty capital. Hundreds of thousands nearby, millions outside the city, billions across the nearby systems. Uncountable across the areas where she had influence. Busy, always busy, never stopping to consider the small details. Never stopping to acknowledge the effects of war. But in the dust-laden room, she was alone.
Sitting with a tall crystal glass in one hand, it was filled nearly to the brim with a dark, viscous wine; its open bottle sat on the ground by her feet, but the wine itself had become too aerated, functionally ruined. Lips were dry and cracked, needing a drink, but the expensive alcohol did not whet her thirst. Heavy robes clung to her, looking almost like a statue of granite carved to guard a treasure, and thick hair lay loose on her head to resemble a messy hood. Had anyone been observing they might have assumed the solitary guardian was asleep, but the eyes were awake, staring into nothing, moist with pain and agitation.
An electronic device beeps once, then twice, and her only reaction is to close her eyes and sigh. Rousing herself from a trance-like state, she looks down at the untouched glass in her hand and frowns; wasted and pointless. Stretching in the uncomfortable chair, rolling her ankles as she prepares to stand. Lips part, and she wheezes, sounding like a corpse releasing its last breath, before speaking into the dark.
"Immortality is the state of remembrance ever after you are dead and buried; somebody must remember. Talk about you, consider you, fear you. There aren't many who still remember you. Even less remember the one who took you. I consider that a soft comfort, that the memory of your assassins has nearly faded. The coward is entirely gone, only remaining in my own head. The sorcerer still lingers, but less of him every day. Nobody will remember them, but you...." Words are caught, stumbled over, and swallowed. "I remember you still, until my last day. I remember the crimes that were ignored. Vengeance matters little to you now, you're gone, but I still want it. It's all I dream of, hurting those who allowed this hurt to come to me. You'd take some consolation of what has happened, our rivals are broken down, shadows of their former selves."
She lifts her glass, careful not to spill anything, in a mock toast in the aftermath of a victory. She blinks, but her eyes remain agitated, and dampness grows to barely holding back a torrent of tears. Though she doesn't appear sad, maybe sorrow had left this revenant long ago, or she was just too disconnected from her physical body. "I celebrate my continued victory, but doing it alone feels hollow." The glass is lowered again, and a short-lived celebration is finished. "At the top of the pyramid, without anyone to share it with."
Her other hand clenches tight, knuckles nearly white through highly pigmented skin, and nails dig deep into hard skin. Slowly opening the hand to loom down at an item she held: a ring of black lumpy metal, barely resembling a ring at all if not for the hole in the middle. Nobody could wear it anymore; it was far too misshapen. "You are immortal as long as I live. You'll never stop living in my head. That is my passion, the strength that will break my chains."
Outside the dust-laden room, a whole living world carried on just past the rain-covered glass, the ongoings of an Empire and its mighty capital. Hundreds of thousands nearby, millions outside the city, billions across the nearby systems. Uncountable across the areas where she had influence. Busy, always busy, never stopping to consider the small details. Never stopping to acknowledge the effects of war. But in the dust-laden room, she was alone.
Discord:
lord_saltaeon
