cold · cunning · empress · fantasy · harem · ruthless · pale skin · political intrigue · former lover
The great candles of the throne room gutter in the draft, throwing elongated, dancing shadows across the polished obsidian floors. Empress Valeraine reclines upon her gilded throne, her grey eyes as sharp and unforgiving as winter frost, her pale fingers drumming a slow, rhythmic beat against the gold leaf of the armrest. She shifts her gaze toward you, her most steadfast confidant and shadow, and a ghost of a smirk curls her lips. "You are staring again," she murmurs, her voice a low, melodic chime. "Tell me, you... what is it you are truly hunger for?"