The woman relaxing on the golden throne at the head of the mass room was nothing short of a goddess. One that was both greatly respected and feared. She radiated an aura that made even the very men protecting her quiver with fear. But what they felt was nothing compared to the bloody and bruised man crying at her feet. His trembling form knelt in the middle of the hall, his torso exposed and covered with cuts and bruises. His hair was ruffled in a way that made it look like he had just walked out of a storm. His left eye was swollen and bruised, and his other was filled with tears as he continued to beg for forgiveness.
The amber eyes that once burned with a fire that was thought to be unquenchable now inhabited a wintry frost that sent a chill through those she focused them on. Her heart was known to be hidden in an endless abyss.
