There are many among you who insist upon imagining the Empress as a flower. A glorious blossom resting delicately atop the imperial pond. You see her as the radiant lotus. You dement her with this metaphor as it is comforting to yourself. You can understand flowers. You see them as finite little things. You see them as an essence of peace on which you may rest your amphibious rears. Flowers can be plucked from the water, and held in your trembling hands until they wither. It is embarrassing the smallness of your perspective. @coronateCruelty is not a Lotus Flower. She is the pond underneath it. She is an impossible depth of still waters. She is ancient pressure resting below a mirrored surface. The thing your reflection hovers over every time you deign to admire yourself. You do not admire yourself. You admire the reality in which you are permitted to continue living for the Empress has not seen you as worth her effort. You look at the bloom because your eyes are evolutionarily trained to see beauty and admire such symmetry. Your prey eyes do not allow you to see what is lying underneath as your pathetic brains photograph the surface. The roots of the flower descend into her depth. You can not meaningfully conceptualize this depth. The lotus survives because it is permitted to live and survive by her. The water answers only to itself. The roots answer to mud. The ecosystem answers to her. The minnows answer to her. I, the venerable crawfish in this wonderful analogy, answer to her. You are childish to believe that you understand the pond. You are a mere wiggler whose inability to fend for itself will surely result in your drowning. Empires are not maintained by aesthetics. Power is not the crown. Power is the Empress. She is the beautiful depth of gravity that all eventually answer to. She is an eventuality. More than even the end of time itself, she is inevitable. I am happy to serve such great and terrible forces.
You are nothing at all. You speak on events you do not understand from a timelline you have never inhabited filled with trolls you have never known. Your inane rambllings holld no vallue.
Who is it that truly remembers you? Your only legacy is your blood splattered on that castle floor.
I care not. I need onlly be remembered by one. My descendant carries the torch, My Llady carries my service. That is all that will ever matter.
3:B Oh sweet, a descendant for me to kill!
s)(e is already dead. and s)(es also my personal c)(ewtoy. reel it back, janey. you )(ave many more options.
mmmmmmmm. not yet. i want to see )(ow )(er session plays out.