Moira walked down the long, stone path towards her throne. She had been disappointed that it had been so easy for her. She had wanted a struggle, a battle, and yet they had fallen at her fingertips so easily.
Now she could do anything she wanted with them, and she planned to have a little fun.
"My robe!" Her voice echoed through the cavernous room, and on command a woman entered, naked except for a few rags still dangling from her form, dried blood crusted to her skin.
The woman knelt, handing Moira a long black robe.
For what she had planned it was best to be modest.
"I want you to bring William to me." She sat crossing her legs at the knee. She leaned back shaking her hair free of the robe, letting it fall across her shoulders.
The woman, her servant, ran from her presence.
Even though these people, these weaklings, craved immortality they still clung to normal, human emotions. Fear most of all it seemed. How pointless. Fear would hold them back. No god could fear anything, and only gods could be immortal. After she was done with her recent batch of trouble makers she would clean house, weed out the weak.
"Let go of me you bitch!" William's voice was raspy. He had been crying.
Moira cringed. Her last remaining relative was in her presence, and yet he was just as weak as the others.
"Such language William." She stood, pulling the robe tight. Her body would not help her now. "I would have hoped your mother would have raised you better."
The servant threw William at Moira's feet. He didn't look up at her.
"Don't talk about my mother." He tried to stand.
Moira gently placed her hand on William's shoulder. Then carefuly she placed her fingers under his chin, lifting his face towards hers.
"We have much to talk about." She smiled.
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