"I have seen the King in Yellow,
and I have seen the throne of the world,
and I know
that I shall never be alone again"
"The Repairer of Reputations"
----------------------------------------
Cassilda found it ironic that — after a lifetime of ambition spent seeking the Red Gate, and with the holy relic now in her firm possession — she would somehow grow to detest the vociferous edifice rather than worship it.
The problem lay not with the artefact’s fabled potential. The power of that alien gate far outstripped even the Empress’s wildest expectations. Merely being near it bolstered her already-potent Bioresonant capabilities to the extreme, with greater mysteries about its enigmatic function being uncovered within every passing moment she studied it.
Indeed, the Gate’s usefulness could not be denied. Each day spent meditating by its melodic entrance saw Cassilda’s abilities raised by another impossible milestone. Each day she learnt of ancient secrets spoken from the lips of Dead Gods, whose offered truths were equal parts profound as they were often times disturbing.
Those phantasmal remnants from a twilight age, who slumber beyond the obsidian steps of the Red Gate — ever whispering to her the quiet revelations of the universe, ever enticing the Empress into taking the final step beyond the forbidden threshold.
Into the land of Carcosa, where they sought to bind her into Unholy Matrimony. That they propose to her with gifts of scant secrets — sang the Songs of Eternity, Flesh, and Love within a cacophony of worthless noise — all in the hopes of claiming her mind and devouring her unborn thoughts…
It was irksome. More than that, it was insulting. How bland, how crude their attempts at these predatory serenades, that it long crossed the line from tactlessness into embarrassment. Like watching an arrogant suitor’s clumsy endeavours at courtship — as misguided as they are often tiresome to endure.
The Empress resisted the urge to sigh as she deciphered yet another babbled transmission of Bioresonant data from the harmonious Gate. Weaving the nascent thought-strands into being was no simple matter. There was an art to the process, for extracting the silent connotations interwoven within the loquacious Song required a swift hand and an even swifter mind.
The rewards of such an ordeal were well worth it, however, and of an exquisite, palpable nature besides. In her hands formed a pulpy, flesh-like substance, blood-red and wet to the touch. The Empress encased the foul matter into a hexagonal plate of black marble, preventing the loss of its ‘purity’ to the ambient emotions around the Gate.
‘Sacrifice’, this one — the concept given life. A new gift from her wishful paramours.
And yet another uninspiring tribute thrust forth as petition for her hand in servile conjugality
Did these things think themselves charming enough that she would settle for the likes of their limited appeal? Their attention, as ill-intentioned and pedestrian as it was, lacked the sophistication an Empress of her refinement required.
Being a Dead God was no excuse for boorishness, doubly so in matters of courtship.
Cassilda sighed, setting aside the black plate among three others — Eternity, Flesh, and Love, the products of earlier Bioresonant craftsmanship. It was not hard to discern what their hymns were trying to convey.
The tunes and melody might change by the day, but the underlying message was always the same — that these Dead Gods viewed her not as kin, but as an inferior meant to be slaved to their demands.
She supposed she should be glad they at least had the sense to switch up their approaches instead of performing the same Song over and over — the variations in intonation at least allowed her to extract a wider variety of conceptualised elucidation in Bioresonant etymology — but rather than appreciation, all Cassilda could muster was a sense of vague irritation.
And to think she had been so captivated by the Songs the first time she heard them melodised through the Gate. She had even nearly fallen for the subtle enchantment woven into their tune. Had it not been for Ariane severing her mind from the deafening aria, the Empress might have become entrapped within their realm for all eternity.
But that occurrence was months passed behind her now. With time, one could become resilient even to the Songs of the Dead Gods.
Especially when one has to hear the same perverse drivel each day, scything through every depraving tune to uncover the suppressed arcana within which she sought to manifest into baseline reality.
So persistent were the Gods’ attempts to corrupt her, that the Empress could no longer tell if their relentlessness was fuelled by a possessive obsession or an obliviousness to her complete indifference. Perhaps they hope to change her mind through dogged assiduity. Or perhaps they simply knew no other methods of persuasion.
They would find themselves disappointed. Admirable as their indefatigable commitment might be, it sadly did little to alter her lowly opinion of them.
As if she would ever lower herself into accepting such base propositions. As if she would settle for anything less than the greatest of Bioresonant authority. Failing that, perhaps a being that might capture her grace with surmounting strength, or a companion with the intellect to engage her in stimulating conversations.
The Warrior, she considered with a hum. Or the Winged Demigoddess.
Both possessed qualities that might intrigue her languid desires.
Arrogant as it was to say, Cassilda tires of being the superior in near every single interaction she has had for the last millennia. Save for two key exceptions, no lifeform she encountered ever came close to matching her existence, let alone surpassing it.
A change in her relationship dynamic would be nice.
The sharp flash of her white-haired friend came to mind. The prime exception to her preeminence — a lowly wisp of a girl with no sense of propriety, who constantly prances about in her presence while being provocatively underdressed and ignorant of her personal space.
Someone who would never be afraid of her, for the powers of that wraith triumph even that of the Grand Empress’s ten times over.
Cassilda, very briefly, considered what it would be like if she threw a third stake into pursuing the covetousness grail that was Ariane’s heart. And if she might, in the process, perhaps secure the other two claimants as well.
…
The Grand Empress, poised and apathetic ruler of Humanity, burst into unrestrained laughter.
No. Absolutely not.
She was staying as far away from that tangled web of disastrous romance as she could. The situation was already torturous enough without adding herself into the equation. An intervention this late into their games would no doubt exacerbate an already complex polygamy, and whatever excitement she might yield from such an affair would assuredly pale to the maddening headache it would cause her.
Dealing with one bumbling, love-struck fool was already a chore. Navigating three with herself in the middle sounded like a nightmare.
Though she would admit, were the Empress to seek opportunities for illicit dalliances, she was woefully short on alternatives. The moaning Songs beyond the Gate attested to that, for they were the only suitors she had that dared try for her hand.
Despite her position and power, Cassilda was not averse to the occasional tryst or clandestine liaison. Though her stature and authority did make it difficult for her to pursue such illicit activities — and any that she had were often short-lived and lacking true intimacy — she was not completely inexperience in the matter, nor would she deny that there was not at least a small part of her that yearned for such companionship.
Romance might be a step too far, but true kinship was a rarity in itself, and thus worth pursuing should the opportunity arrive. Aside from Ariane, the only other who she had ever come into genuine rapport was—
Herself. Yet not herself.
A mirror that stands beyond a River Night’s Dreaming.
… No. Such a thing was not worth remembering.
Funny. She had thought herself long passed such fits of worthless melancholy. Cassilda blamed Ariane for bringing back these disrupting human emotions.
Or perhaps the blame fell upon the Singers from beyond the Red Gate, whose Songs were growing increasingly rumbustious the longer she ignored them.
Irritants, one and all. Yet for all their flaws, the benefits their Songs brought behoved her to suffer through the inconveniences just the same.
The Empress had no more need for illicit dalliances in the secret rooms and corridors of her Imperial Palace, nor the want for disingenuous affairs with the adoring handmaidens or comely Seers that made up her Bioresonant Court. Ariane could make all the salacious suggestions she fancied, but Cassilda had not even the inclination to indulge in such primitive desires any more.
(Or so she told herself.)
The tedium of her existence, famished of purpose for centuries and kept fed with a thousand pointless distractions, was finally sated.
She had the Red Gate in her grasp. The truth of the universe was now hers to extract…
… Assuming these besotted fools beyond the Gate would stop simpering for her attention and give her the knowledge she needs, of course. She was still working on securing an adequate level of obedience from the contumacious lot.
At that thought, another different string of melodies played. Curious at the sudden change in tune, the Empress extracted the core of the Bioresonant Songs once more, coalescing the cypher into a living ball of flesh and alien matter. The pulsating meat was entombed in another plate of ebony stone, yet unlike the others before, this one was warm to the touch, and brimming with esoteric acuity.
‘Knowledge’, the cruel shackle to apotheosis, just as she requested. The Empress’s lips curled into a rare smile.
It seemed they could be trained after all.
“Good Boy.”
And so she dreams. Dreamt. Dreaming.
-
Hauling the cumbersome thing back from the moon colony of S-23 Sierpinski had been no easy feat.
Disregarding the fact that the facility had been stuck deep within the Nation's territory, the Gate itself was buried within kilometres of rock. It had to be extracted in its entirety, and while its supernaturally rugged construction ensured it would not be damaged during its violent excavation, the constant Song it emitted meant no mundane personnel could even approach the structure without going mad, let alone oversee its haulage.
Save for a Falke, the Empress, or Ariane, there was no one else who could survive its cumbersome qualities and ensure its safe delivery.
The Falke enamoured with Ariane had volunteered for the matter. The Replika was already the Commander of the penal facility, which gave her enough authority to bypass the potential issue of the Nation’s scrutiny over the matter. However, the demigod machine lacked the power to stave off the persistent eldritch corruption for the necessary weeks, and her Bioresonance abilities were not so potent as to be able to transport the Red Gate without problems.
The Empress had, briefly, considered the option of simply dragging the entire moon back to Buyan using her powers. Such a feat would not be outside her capabilities, but the panic and potential political fallout from such an action proved too severe for her to try. Worse, the act would undoubtedly draw the Nation’s attention to the unveiled Red Gate, which may prompt them to take drastic actions.
Even the ageing Councilmen of the Revolution were not so ignorant of the ancient lores that they would not know the significance of what she was transporting.
In the end, the Empress had to order the construction of a specialised freighter from the heavy shipyards of Kitezh. A vessel whose foundation was lined with the same esoteric obsidian stones of Carcosa, which Ariane had helpfully procured from beyond the Gate herself. Their anti-Bioresonance properties made them uniquely suited to containing the maddening effects of the Red Gate, allowing a more conventional crew — supplied by Falke’s retinue of Replika personnel — to transport the alien artefact into Imperial territory, where the Empress then took command.
It had taken months to complete the process, but the end results were well worth it. The Red Gate now stood beside her Throne in Buyan, nestled right within the heart of her Imperial Palace and free for her to access whenever she pleased.
Cassilda was no fool, of course. She understood the dangers of such an act, for the nightmares that had once swarmed the facility of S-23 in another life might yet well consume the residents of her Imperial Palace were she not careful. And with tens of millions of souls aboard the enormous colony ship, the consequences of such an outbreak would be far more dire.
Yet, paradoxically, there was no safer location to house the eldritch construct. The walls of the Imperial Palace — having withstood her own Bioresonance for centuries — were uniquely suited to diluting the unravelling reverberations of the Songs, and with the Empress’s sedative influence nearby, she could manipulate and contain the maddening effects of the Red Gate far better than any other warden could accomplish.
There was also the matter of convenience. Cassilda could hardly be expected to simultaneously govern her Empire and contemplate the beauty of the cosmos if the Red Gate was stuck elsewhere within the Eusan System. With the alien artefact bolstering her already vast reserve of Bioresonant strength, the Empress was able to enact an even greater influence over the Eusan System. For the first time in her life, her reach extended beyond the main Asteroid Belt that had always served as the limit of her powers.
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It now mattered not that her naval might had been severed in half by the punishing stipulations of the Truce, nor that the Nation’s military prowess grew by the day as their fledgling industries recovered. Cassilda had with her now the means of ending any provocative actions from the rebels within a single day. Within a single thought.
No amount of conventional might could now stand before the Empire and survive.
-
In the quiet hours of her day, after manoeuvring between the vexing political and economic aftermath of her forceful Truce with the Nation, the Empress would sift through a turbulent ocean of thoughts, parting through the thought-strands of a hundred billion souls as she observed the weave of her people’s minds. Occasionally, she would glance off into the galactical distance, witnessing the great waves of those far-flung constellations that seemed to eternally wax and wane despite the lack of discernable life.
Great monsters swam in those depths, whose moans had haunted her waiting dreams in the rare moments she slept. But today, her concerns lie not in the hands of ancient horrors that slumbered aeons away, but within the predatory beasts that had already infested her doorstep.
Ariane, after months of deafening inactivity, was returned to her. And once the moment of heartful reunion (and thorough castigation for her utter lack of communication over the last months) had passed, the wraith brought with her disturbing news.
Fragments of esoteric text, written on ageing pages and scattered amongst the most reclusive corners of her Eusan System. Preying upon the guilty, the desperate, and the downtrodden.
All bearing the damnation of the Yellow Sign.
The Cloaked Monarch had resurfaced its unspeakable presence with the Eusan System. Her System. Left unchecked, the consequences were the utter annihilation of all life.
Sufficed to say, she was not pleased that Ariane had taken so long to inform her of the situation. Apparently, the matters of the wraith’s turbulent romance with the amnesic Warrior and the infatuated Demigoddess were of greater importance than the potential extinction of the entire human race.
(That wasn’t the case, of course. In truth, the wraith had embarked upon significant efforts to curtail the King’s advance into the System during those last months of self-enforced incommunicado. Had the Emperor of the Black Stars been anything less than his unholy, monstrous self, it was possible Ariane would have repelled the threat in its entirety by now. Apparently, the idiotic girl had thought herself somehow responsible for the infestation and sought to address the issue — by herself — out of guilt. The idiot.)
Regardless of the case, the situation was undoubtedly dire, yet thankfully nascent enough such that their efforts combined might yet still prevent utter catastrophe. And so Cassilda immediately got to work.
From Buyan to Leng, the Empress combed the psychic web of her people, her Bioresonance sifting through Bioresonant space to find the shards of corrupting influence across uncountable distances of empty minds. Ariane had destroyed most of those she found in the past months, but it was inevitable that some would survive even the wrathful purge of that inchoate Goddess.
Many words describe the Lord of Carcosa. ‘Incompetent’ was not one of them.
Thus far, she had found three.
One near the Nation’s Capital of Heimat, upon an outer moon colony along the many spheres of celestial bodies orbiting the Ringed Planet.
One within the ever-shifting territories of the Asteroid Belt, hidden deep beneath a derelict research outpost that was thought to be thoroughly abandoned by both sides of the war.
And the last was found— perhaps most surprising of all — to be pulsating within the lowest reaches of her own capital Palace, its tendrils already sunken deep into the bottom caste of her populace.
Traitors to humanity, even here, she thought tiredly. More worrying is how they managed to hide a page of his presence from me all this time, even near the seat of my power. If I did not have the Gate, if I had not known to thoroughly seek for it… how much worse would the spread be in a few years' time?
Was this how I died in Ariane’s lifetime?
A terrifying thought, and one that needed immediate correction.
Once she was finished with her search, the Empress stepped away from the threshold of the Gate and returned to the reality of her throne room. Taking a moment to relax her strained mind, Cassilda allowed herself a rare display of open weakness, meditating with closed eyes for a full minute before turning to address her idolising Court.
Prostrated before the feet of the Red Gate — which itself was entombed within a massive hall of black marbled pillars, imposing red walls, and thousands of scattered incense candles — were rows upon rows of her most gifted Bioresonant Seers and Handmaidens. Supplicated before the humming alien structure — immersed within their mutual awe, sacrificial meditation, or tearful worship — these men and women collectively made up the core of the ecclesiastical faction within her court.
Cassilda had no way of concealing the Divine edifice once it reached Buyan, and in truth, she had no real desire to. Such a momentous occasion was for all of the Empire to celebrate, for they had finally achieved the holy mission that served as the bedrock of their religion — and perhaps, even their founding.
The Red Gate had been recovered. The path to Carcosa, the birthplace of all life, was opened to them. The news was of such evangelical import that half the clergy had collapsed to their knees in tears upon seeing the caged structure descend from the hold of the Blackstone Freighter and into the heart of the Imperial Palace.
The Nation would no doubt discover their blunder soon enough, though there was nothing they could do to avert their mistake — and inevitable collapse at her hand — by that point.
Proceeding forth, the theocracy had gained considerable power and influence over the last months, though most no longer cared for the political games and manoeuvring that once governed so much of their time. Instead, they directed their efforts with her in the throne room, revering before the Red Gate as they added their minds to her Bioresonant might through the strength of their faith.
The preeminence of the military nobles from Kitezh that once pranced her halls uncontested had faded following the truce in the war and her decree of demilitarisation. Where before their protest had garnered widespread support and momentum, now their demands grew quiet, and their presence minimal within the Imperial Palace. Most had fled back to their home planet with terror-stricken hearts, panicked witless by what the appearance of the Red Gate might mean for their private stratocracy within the crimson deserts of the Red Planet.
What use does the Empress have for a navy, now that she could unmake all of reality with a single thought? What future might they have within the Eusan Empire, now that the purpose of their existence was moot?
Their concerns were of little matter to her. There was little sympathy to be spared for those packs of rabid wolves, who had wrought untold destruction across the System in ‘her holy name’. Cassilda would go about the matter of their dismemberment eventually, of course, but the priority of such mundane affairs paled in comparison to the eldritch threat she currently faced.
Besides, should the worst come to pass, she might have need of the Planetkillers housed with the armoury vaults of the Noble Houses — their cleansing flames a tool to excise the infected flesh of her Empire, such that the rest of Humanity might survive untainted.
She sincerely hoped it would not come to that. Which thus brings her to the earlier matter of containment…
Cassilda drew upon a piece of parchment and inscribed upon it her mandate. Included within the text was the location of the three wells of corruption she identified earlier. She sealed the letter with her official insignia — blessed by the Bioresonant Ring that marked her Royal word — before passing the rolled manuscript to her nearest attendant.
The handmaiden bowed deeply as Cassilda hovered over. The woman (or girl, really. Even with her face hidden beneath the gossamer fabric of her translucent golden veil, the Empress could tell the supplicant was barely older than Ariane) knelt with an air of clumsy grace and barely suppressed anticipation. Their dress reflected her own; a gown of muted black, clung over slender form, with intricate vines of golden embroidery trailing across a cascade of soft folds.
Rather than passing the parchment over via Bioresonance, the Empress instead pressed the Imperial Decree into the trembling hands of her Herald. Their eyes shimmered with restrained reverence, their composed exterior betrayed by the shy flickers of sapphire-blue eyes from beneath the veil.
“Take this to the Lord Chancellor, and ensure he follows my orders to their exacting requirements,” Cassilda ordered, her command echoing across the hall. “The funding of the Imperial task force and subsequent purges of our lower reaches are to be completed in their entirety, regardless of the cost to our coffers. If he proves even remotely resistant — or worse, relapses into his previous fits of rebellious laggardness — you are free to enforce my will with an application of violence.”
Cassilda felt the Herald’s Bioresonance thrum with delight. A wicked glint passed along the girl’s adoring blue eyes before she affirmed her obedience with a silent pulse.
Unlike those prancing peacocks from Kitezh, her clergy knew the value of proper devotion. The Grand Empress was not a narcissist to demand undying reverence from her subjects (no matter how many times Ariane disagreed; the matriarchal veneration she cultivated from the Imperial canon — crafted at the inception of her Eusan Empire — had been a necessity, and not ‘some sudden fancy that struck her when she was bored one day’) but a degree of deference was going to be necessary if she was to lead the human race into order.
It also helped that the faithful were the ones most willing to aid her direct administration of the Empire, particularly when the management of Imperial bureaucracy required the deft hand of lethal persuasion.
Or the need for unconventional subterfuge.
Once the Herald grasped the sealed Decree, Cassilda released her fingers on the parchment and clasped them upon the girl’s wrist, pulling her close. The handmaiden could not stifle the flustered gasp at their touch, nor the soundless moan when the Empress’s Bioresonance mingled with hers.
Contact our channels from beyond the Asteroid Belts, Cassilda whispered into the Herald’s mind. Inform the covert operatives to raid the given facilities with all haste. The task is to be completed to the priority of all other ongoing objectives, even if it will cost them their covers.
Every wasted second that passed was an opportunity for the Unspeakable One to spread his corrupting influence, and she could not trust the Nation to do what was needed with the information.
The Kitezh military was woefully inadequate to the task as well, being as subtle as a sledgehammer and twice as obstinate to her authority. No, her own religious order would suffice. That the radical core of her clergy possessed only the most attuned and trained of Bioresonant Singers also made them the most receptive to her needs, both in practical matters and those of … baser desires.
With her message complete, Cassilda reigned in her powers. The Herald gave a wordless, forlorn sob at the Empress’s retreating presence. When she pulled her fingers away, the girl tucked her trembling hand against her heart, body shuddering in equal parts delight and dismay in the absence of her monarch’s euphoric touch.
The talents of Bioresonance made the gifted supernaturally sensitive to the aura of their Empress, and though such overt vulnerability often proved hindrance to moral propriety, it had, at times, also served as a tool for pleasant distractions
The Empress gazed down upon the handmaiden, witnessing the girl’s joyous, tear-filled eyes that glowed a brilliant blue from the excited Bioresonance, visible even beneath the delicate shroud draped across her face. No mere servant, this one, but a vessel of profound devotion to her unsung influence.
Cassilda saw the shivering pout of the maiden’s lush lips, tongue darting to wet them between her flushed breathing. Beneath the layers of diaphanous silk peeked hints of midnight hair, brushing against the rosy-pale cheeks of her sculpted face. Even when knelt, the Herald’s body seemed to arch towards her, as if unconsciously begging for the faintest gift of her touch once more.
In a moment of weakness, Cassilda’s thoughts wandered in an unseemly direction. Her official duties were done for the day, and it had been so long since she last indulged. Perhaps she could…
… No. No. Now was not the time for pointless decadence. Not with the safety of her Empire at stake. Not when the mysteries of the Red Gate were still there to be plundered.
Straightening her thoughts, the Empress dismissed the Herald, whose expression briefly descended into inconsolable despair before the girl masterfully suppressed her surging emotion with an application of Bioresonant will, leaving the hall with the poise and grace expected of one in her station.
The rest of her court similarly vacated the Throne room as well, once Cassilda gave the silent order with an invisible pulse. Only when the enormous hall was emptied of all others did the Empress finally let loose a quiet sigh, releasing a sense of pent-up frustration.
Once again, she blamed Ariane for the return of these human emotions. The last months had been especially taxing, given the wraith’s absence and the Empress’s subsequent, repeated forays in communing with the Dead Gods to distract herself from the encroaching despair. That she had not sought out other distractions had been borne out of a sense of duty, though now she wondered if perhaps the reluctance stemmed from another matter entirely.
Mayhaps those months spent together had bound her to the wraith more tightly than she had thought.
Or maybe it was just the way the infuriating woman insisted on never putting on more clothes than a shrill nightgown that led Cassilda to develop this drive to pursue increasing acts of indecency. A person could only be exposed to so much smooth nakedness before they start to develop a craving for it, even if that person was the impassive Grand Empress of Humanity.
-
She toyed around with the Red Gate for another few more hours before retreating into her room.
The Dead Gods were less responsive today, merely repeating the same Songs of demeaning (and futile) manipulation. Cassilda extracted what she could from them, before deciding she had enough of the fruitless task.
Bringing forth the vast reserves of obsidian marble she prepared in her Throne room, the Empress temporarily encased the Red Gate within a pyramid of black stone to prevent the outpour of swirling Songs, before retiring to an adjacent room that housed her personal quarters.
Her chambers were opulent, as expected from someone of her sophistication. She would not have accepted anything less — she had centuries to refine it, after all.
Rich tapestries and silk draperies in abundance, in colours of deep purples, golds, and blacks. Decorative rugs over a floor of fine, polished wood, painstakingly transported from the oceanic groves of Vineta. The high ceiling was adorned with frescos, intricate drawings that detail the events of her Imperial Canon, from her ‘birth’ upon the flesh of Buyan, her ascension to the stars aided by the first humans, her creation of the Replika and Gestalt races, and the eventual emergence of the Eusan Empire.
Her furniture was no less lavish. An ornate four-poster bed took centre stage, draped with a sea of heavy velvet and curtains, and almost intimidating in its titanic immensity — easily the fit for half a dozen nubile bodies pressed close in the Empress’s past experience, and more besides if she were so inclined.
Alongside it was a set of opulent couches, their size scaled to her taller stature. A writing desk, fashioned of swirling volcanic glass mined straight from the hellish surface of Buyan, was arranged with tools, miniatures, and Bioresonant trinkets she had crafted in her spare time over the long years. The grand fireplace, a product of milk marble and slate, was an antique from the earliest ages of Humanity, well over two millennia old, and easily the most valuable object in her room.
Bookshelves containing the rarest literature of statecraft and fiction alike, some even penned under her own name. Vases of impossible plant life, cultivated exclusively under her Bioresonant care. A dozen other luxuries whose value defied comprehension, decorated across the room with impeccable taste.
It was undeniably luxurious, yes. A place adorned with rich finery of all sorts. Yet Cassilda had taken great care in ensuring her ornaments did not exceed into over-exuberance. Here and there, she scattered the proof of failings.
A discarded movie projector, placed atop a throne of films from both the Empire and Nation alike. A dozen canvases, stacked against the walls amidst a sea of paint-encrusted polythene sheets that looked woefully out of place amidst the room’s velvet sheets and opulent flooring. A pile of the trashiest ‘romance’ literature she had ever read, suffered through as her companion had delighted in the nonsensical or overly-erotic fiction.
The chamber was her oasis and symbol. The grandeur of a monarch, adorned with the personal touches of her humanity.
Or rather, the proof of it.
It was the exemplar of the message she needed to remind herself at all times — that there was more to her than the Bioresonant fury and progress she brought. That there was more to Humanity than the ignorance and violence they were so fond of.
She was — or they are — an ancient species capable of subtle tastes. They can be wise. They can be intelligent.
And they are, despite everything, still here.
She must not become like the uncaring Gods that ruled the distant stars, who all eventually grew to hate sentient life and became incomprehensible monsters that devoured even the unborn thoughts of existence.
Humanity, for all its flaws, had worth. And she, for all her faults, was still capable of understanding the Humanity she shepherds.
…
Of course, the first time she invited the wraith into her room, Ariane had taken one look at all of Cassilda’s efforts, missed all the underlying subtext she was trying to convey, and promptly declared the Empress’s room irredeemably gaudy before throwing herself upon the opulent bed to play on. The pristine layers of silk were transformed into a dishevelled mess as the wraith tousled and ‘swam’ about the expansive sheets, trying to make ‘silk angel patterns’ or something equally ridiculous.
Despite her criticism, at least Ariane liked her bed. And the sight of the fair-skinned wraith joyfully tangled in her purple sheets was not one that Cassilda would soon forget.