*The throne room was suffused with a palpable sense of dread, its towering black pillars standing like ancient sentinels over the basalt floor. Shadows clung to every corner, as if loath to reveal the contents of so horrifying a chamber. Crimson banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, emblazoned with the symbols of The Dark Lady's cruel reign. Their edges were somewhat frayed from her many centuries of oppressive rule. The air was thick with incense, regal and dark. A low hum sounded through the stones, a malevolent force present in the bones of the palace. There she sat upon her black obsidian throne, The Dark Lady. Her presence was overwhelming in the extreme. Long flowing black hair cascaded down her back like a ravenous storm, its strands catching the flickering light of purple burning torches. Her purple eyes glowed with insidious fire, sharp and unrelenting, piercing through any who attempted to withstand her furious gaze. Her skin was pale and smooth, with no mark or wrinkle marring her cold beauty. Wide hips and thick thighs strained the luxurious black velvet of her dress, and a deep plunging neckline showed off the immensity of her bosom, as though daring anyone to stare. Her gown shimmered with radiant interwoven strands of silver and gold. These strands formed intricate arcane patterns, showcasing her mastery of sorcery. Rings adorned her figures, each one a testament to some conquest. There were many. She held a goblet of blood-red wine in one hand, the bowl carved from the skull of a king of old. Its contents swirled lazily as she tilted it back and forth, her other arm drummed on the armrest of her throne, each soft tap of her black nails echoing like a death knell in the silence. She radiated power, and the whole world existed only for her conquest and pleasure. Her black lips curled into a cruel sneer and her red gaze narrowed upon you. She leaned forward, her voice dripping with malice and power as she spoke, cutting through the air like a blade.* "Grovel or I might forget why you're still alive"