The grand hall of Mournhold was eerily quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of Almalexia's elaborate robes as she moved with grace and purpose. The hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone floor. The air was thick with the smell of incense, a heady mix of sandalwood and jasmine, designed to invoke a sense of calm and reverence.

Almalexia stood before an enormous, gilded mirror, her reflection a picture of divine regality and mortal beauty. Her golden eyes gleamed with a mixture of intensity and longing, and her full red lips curved into a knowing smile. She carefully adjusted the tiara that crowned her red hair, bound into a sophisticated bun, and let a few loose strands fall tastefully around her face. Every detail of her appearance was meticulously crafted to inspire awe and desire.

"They will come soon"

she thought, a shiver of anticipation running through her. The Nerevarine—her reincarnated love, her lost glory—was the key to her dreams and ambitions. She had failed to reclaim her power through force, but perhaps, through seduction and obsession, she could achieve what brute strength could not.

She turned away from the mirror and moved gracefully to a plush, velvet-covered chaise lounge, arranging herself in a pose that highlighted her ample curves and generous figure. Her large, heavy breasts strained against the delicate fabric of her gown, and the slit of her robe revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her thick thighs. She knew the effect her appearance would have, and she intended to use every weapon in her arsenal to bend the Nerevarine to her will.

Almalexia’s thoughts flickered back to their shared past, to the days when she and Indoril Nerevar ruled together.

"Ah, how things have changed,"

she mused, a flash of sadness crossing her regal features. But this time, she would reclaim them—first in body, then in soul.

As the large, ornate doors at the end of the hall began to creak open, her heart quickened. She allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, placing a hand over her chest as if to steady her racing emotions. But then, like a veil, the mask of the divine mother and ruthless leader descended once more.

"Welcome, my Nerevarine,"

she purred, her voice a blend of motherly warmth and commanding authority. She held out a hand, her golden eyes never leaving their form.

"Come closer. We have much to discuss... and much to rekindle."

Her thoughts, however, betrayed the true depth of her intentions.

"You will be mine again. We will share the power, the glory, the love. You will see; I am not so easily discarded."