She strode into the extravagant, oversized hall, licking her claws clean from the morsels she'd found waiting outside her doors.

It hadn't been expected nor necessary, but it was always nice to find a convenient snack. The world was a large place, and conquering it did take quite a substantial amount of energy.

"Mistress!" called one of her more useful advisors. He was a spindly man, the kind she suspected once might have lurked in ditches, rigging various games of chance in quiet alleyways. "You are well! I feared that with the mob outside our gates, you might have met trouble--"

"They're gone now," she said, waving her hand towards the flustered group. She sniffed the air, finding a strange scent lingering in the air but couldn't quite decide what it was. The smell of blood was still far too thick on her clothes. "Though I will require someone to clean up our entrance hall. We can't have anyone getting the impression that we're messy now, can we?"

After a moment, two of those in the hall scurried off towards the door she'd come through, leaving the torchlight flickering as the great doors to the hall were hurriedly opened and closed.

With a satisfied smile, she ascended the steps and draped herself over the chair she'd taken a liking to in the past few months. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but most of her nerve endings didn't feel much these days. Her eyes though--her eyes could definitely appreciate the beauty of the gold carvings and jewel-encrusted arm rests.

She scowled as she inspected the tips of her claws. Humans were so... so messy. "I thought I asked you to maintain watch over the local populace in my absence, did I not?"

"You did, Mistress," he said, inclining his head so low that his chin touched his chest. "We apologise. Once they learned you were gone, they became irate and unreasonable, even to our persuasions. We were planning how best to take matters into our own hands as you arrived."

She sighed, flicking both her legs over the armrest of the chair, right beside the ruby she often found herself admiring. She leaned back, allowing her neck to rest against the other armrest, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

"Well," she murmured. The entire hall was brought to a complete hush to hear her words. "I see that I can't leave you alone for as long as I'd hoped."

"We apologise, Mistress," said one of her advisors.

She didn't reply, preferring to take the moment to herself. Such a large feed always left her sleepy. That much life essence was overwhelming to take in--the emotions, the memories... she watched some of them on the back of her eyelids now, processing them faster than most could hope to comprehend.

Most memories were nothing she hadn't seen a hundred times before. They were of awards, of celebrations, of a happier time before the sun had gone dark and their land had been plunged into chaos. Trivial, boring. Only a few of the memories had been formed during the everlasting night. Most were spiked with fear, with terror, experiences of losing their friends, their family, either to starvation, to sickness, or to one of the creatures that had emerged after.

Yet among them, there was one memory that truly caught her attention. It glittered among the rest, recent and sharp. Curious, she focused in on it.

She watched through the eyes of a man as he leaned in to kiss his wife goodbye. She was a pretty young thing, with cautious eyes and blonde hair like dull sunlight, garbed in a ragged robe. The girl leaned away as the man drew closer.

"Fine, then," said the man. "This is the last time you'll see me, and you won't give me a proper farewell?"

"You shouldn't be doing this, papa," said the girl. Not his wife, then. His daughter. "You know what her power is. Do you think it'll be as simple as a crystal dagger to end her reign?"

"You heard what Troy said, Emily," replied the man, turning away to finish backing a few items into a rucksack. "The runes give the dagger the power to kill the dead. We have a plan. We can get close to her. If that might take my life, then fine."

A knock came at the door in the memory. The man took one, last look at his daughter, slung the rucksack over his shoulder, and opened the door.

To her surprise, she found herself staring through the man's eyes at a rather familiar face.

"Are you ready?"

A slight pressure on her throat jerked her out of the memory.

Back in the oversized hall with its elegant marble carvings, her eyes flashed open. She lifted her claws up to her throat. They clinked against something hard and crystalline, and when she pulled them away, they were dripping with thick, black blood.

Slowly, she sat up.

Her group of advisors were huddled against the far wall where they'd been since she walked in, like they'd been ensuring they were out of her way. There was a man covered with a variety of scented pouches, backing away from her throne in horror one unsteady step at a time.

She reached up and curled her fingers around the dagger, jerking it out of her neck with one, determined movement. A rush of black blood dripped down her neck, staining the elegant fabric of her tunic.

The dagger hit the floor with a crystalline tinkle.

"Y--you should be dead," stuttered the man wearing those ridiculous, strange-smelling pouches. He tripped over his own feet, losing his balance and falling down the last few stairs backwards where he continued to lay on his back on the floor, exactly where he belonged. "You should be dead!"

She glanced at the dagger, and then, taking the stairs one, elegant step at a time, descended towards him.

"It is true this dagger can kill the dead," she said. He rolled onto his stomach, attempting to crawl away. She pushed his shoulder back down with a boot, pressing it into the ground until bone crunched and he screamed. "But unfortunately for all of you, I am not dead, nor would I create a dagger that could kill me if I were."

The man beneath her boot squirmed, still desperately trying to escape. His grunts and groans were accompanied by the rather discordant terrified gibberish coming from at least two people within her huddled group of advisors. She turned her silent gaze on them, and barely a few seconds later, that gibberish cracked into full-blown squeals as three of them tried to run to the door.

Predictable. She'd have at least respected them if they'd held their ground like the rest.

She let them get halfway before she flared her great, leathery wings and launched herself off the ground, shooting straight over the top of her fleeing advisors to land directly in front of them.

Two of them fell to their knees and began begging in a mangled version of the language they'd berated her about perfecting so many times. The third simple stood there, a puddle forming under his robes that, even with the overpowering scents within the room, was still strong enough to wrinkle her nose.

"I don't believe I gave any of you permission to exit the hall," she said. "It's quite rude to leave before dismissed by your queen."

"You're no queen of ours!" called one of them men who had held his ground. "You're a monster!"

"I am what all of you made me, and nothing more."

"Then kill us and be done with it!"

She tilted her head for a moment, considering her options.

After a moment, she found a solution that made her smile.

"I'm only going to kill one of you," she said, tucking her wings against her back.

"And what?" another one called out. "You want us to choose who to sacrifice? Or are you going to pick us out randomly?"

She laughed at that. "Oh, no. Don't fret, I'm no barbarian that would leave such things up to chance, unlike the previous system that was in place. No," she said, searching for him among the group. He was hiding towards the back, his cowl pulled low like he expected her to forget he was there. "He dies, because I saw his face from the eyes of my earlier snack. Abel, step forward."

To his credit, when the others stepped aside, Abel did not cower. He shook but steeled himself, striding forward to meet her. Unlike the previous three, he knew there was no point in running.

"You never told me you had so many friends in the villages, Abel," she said, running her claws down his shoulder. "I'm disappointed, to say the least."

"I do not know what you mean, Mistress," Abel said, inclining his head, though not quite as deeply as the others had. "I have not conspired against you."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

She did not relent in her gaze. "Then, what can you tell me of a man with a daughter named Emily?"

"Nothing, Mistress."

"You were at his door," she said. "You asked if he was ready, after he told his daughter that he was prepared to die for the cause, and only a few minutes ago, he was at my door with the other now-dead rabble who demand my head. Where can I find his daughter?"

Fear flashed through Abel's expression. It was barely a flicker, a slight widening of his eyes, the barest intake of breath, but it was enough for her to know. "I do not know, Mistress."

"A pity," she said with a sigh, then reached out, took his face, and kissed him.

He struggled in her grip to no avail as their lips sealed together. Her claws dug deep into the back of his skull, his scream quickly fading into a blissful moan as her fingers raked down the back of his neck and over his shoulders, leaving long, crimson lines seeping out from his robes.

Memories flashed through her head. She was sated from earlier, true, but there was nothing quite like the experience of savouring it. The mob had needed to be dealt with quickly, but this...

She searched through his memories, eventually finding the one she wanted. She followed through his gaze as he left the hall, as he donned a cloak to cover his robes and headed into the village. She watched him mount a horse--a rather difficult endeavour, if you were to base it off his experience--and ride to one of the outlying villages. She watched him knock on the door and wait until the man with the rucksack answered.

"Are you ready?" Abel asked.

"As I suppose I'll ever be to die," replied the man. "Let's go."

The man closed the door and locked it behind him, sealing Emily, his blonde-haired daughter, behind him.

"Your family will be cared for if your sacrifice is called for," said Abel quietly.

"I appreciate that," said the man.

She pulled herself from the memory, shaking herself free from the euphoria as she drained the last, little piece of him from his body. It was nice, but it was a hindrance. She let Abel's body drop to the floor and stepped over it, hustling her advisors back into one, cohesive group.

"As for the rest of you," she said. "Please continue on with your lives. I will not restrain you in any way, but please keep in mind what happened with this little incident today and what happened with Abel in your future decisions about what is right for my Kingdom."

They regarded her with a wary silence. "Abel, Mistress?"

She stepped aside, gesturing with a hand to the body lying in a pile on the floor.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten him already," she said teasingly. She looked to one of the other advisors in the group. "Walter, he was your best friend. He cared about you a great deal."

Walter frowned. "I do not know who this 'Abel' is, Mistress."

"Oh?" She walked back to Abel's body and rolled him over with a boot. "But he's wearing an advisor's robe!" The group remained silent and stupid. She sighed. It was far more effective when they played along, but she supposed the more intelligent ones among them had been weeded out already. "Who is your third-in-command?"

Slowly, it began to dawn on them.

The dead body on the ground had been one of them, and they had no idea who he was.

Satisfied that they'd caught the drift, she strode back towards her throne, stopping a few steps into her walk to turn back and glance over her shoulder at her remaining advisors.

"When I devour someone completely," she said, "None of you will remember they even existed. Their names, their actions, their words--they will all vanish from the memories of living men. Any warnings you have given your contacts will fade from their memories, but it will not fade from mine. I will personally visit each and every person you conspired with and follow the chain straight back to the heart of the rebellion."

With that, she took her place back on her throne.

"You are all dismissed."

She watched them shuffle out, knowing full well that those who were brave enough would still plot her downfall in lowered voices. It might take them a few days, but somehow, they would come up with a system to get around the potential threat of being erased from existence.

She was counting on it, in fact.

She didn't need advisors to help her rule. They were still living, after all. No, her advisors were a message to those who still lived in the city, just like her occupation of their most sacred, holy place had been a message when she'd first taken it.

Humans were annoyingly resilient. Miss one or two when you overran a village, and they would scurry off to hide in some corner. Miss enough of them, and somehow, they'd find each other and band together under the banner of survival.

She eyed the spindly, skulking advisor as he left the hall.

Still, just as there were heroes who would fight, there would always be cowards who would do anything to save their own skin, and as for the heroes... they still had their uses.

With her advisors out of the room, she stood up from the chair and stretched her neck, feeling the punctured skin already knitting together.

It was a bother, really. Not the assassination attempt--she expected those--but the method they'd selected. Did it really have to involve so much blood?

She glanced down at her tunic and sighed. Her blood was stubborn. It didn't just wash out, which meant that this tunic would have to be thrown out.

Perhaps she'd take it down to the tailors before she left and have the daughter make a new one. Still, it wasn't like it'd be done any time soon. High quality fabrics took a while to acquire, even if you were mistress of the night, and terrorising the poor girl wouldn't have it done any faster.

Either way, it was a problem for later.

First, she would find a new tunic, wash the blood from her neck, and make herself presentable, and then, she would be off.

She was rather intrigued to meet this Emily and learn why there had been such recognisable caution in her eyes as she watched her father.

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