Ásjáheimr. At the present.
"Foolish son. After all I've done to secure the throne for him," Queen Thalia murmured, her eyes cold and calculating as she moved through the bright hallway.
Her silver hair flowed gracefully with each step, catching the sparse light filtering through the curtains. The strands shimmered like strands of moonlight woven into her ethereal aura. Her blue eyes, soft as the sky, held a depth that spoke of both wisdom and a touch of cruelty.
