Lord Rook, he got his information, apparently they had moved. The people. This was insane. Neia padded.
The queen though to herself. She was self-aware even in this bleak prison. Very self aware. This so-called flesh drive. She missed her husband, she did not mean to get herself killed. Instead of being sent to being a human, a spirit manipulating a puppet in order to learn a lesson, she was full conscious. And how she despised her human body. Ech. She was a woman through and through, with a savage masculine streak that she had learned to control, hone and craft into a very dangerous weapon. There was a reason why both she and her husband were greatly feared.
She wondered if she had been replaced with a harem of concubines. No, she shook her head. He would keep looking for her. There was nothing to do in her except meditate and practice, reflect and organize her mind. The technique, the memory palace, well, it has her queendom and husband who taught her humanity that.
And so she retreated to her inner chambers, filled with memories and servitors, programmed characters that had the face and acted like the people she knew, but lacking that essential spark.
She was old, but she knew that her…body. Lived longer then the average human. She feared his goal for a. No, her. Goal for a final death. It was still her, merely untaught, unrefined, and too. Too human.
They still shared the same soul after all. If her savage side got killed, well, she wouldn,t be the same after all. She would lose her teeth, becoming soft, and would have to start anew.
No, she had tame her separate savagery and take over. Bit by bit. She ruffled her pure white feathers, yes, and all else fails, she would teach her daughter and tame her.
She refused to accept the creature in control as herself, no it was a child. A female, she had decided that despite her thinking otherwise.
What a foolish child. She sat in her chambers, the only one missing was her husband, but she refused to create a servitor of him. It would be a mockery of his memory and days long spent in solitiude were better then being with a hollow imitation of him, a shoddy imposter.
Besides, she didn,t think she could create an accurate enough copy in her mind, it wouldn,t be the same.
How long will she be waiting?
But she knew one thing, don,t reveal herself, and if she did, kill all witnesses.
Except her darling husband and people of course.
Morgue woke up sweating. He wiped the sweat of his necroises brow, tearing off some flesh in the process, and slid the fleshdrive off the back of his neck. He stashed it in the safe beneath his sleeping platform, the safe inserted in a slot below the wooden board.
Only one with his blood or soul signature could open it.
He couldn,t remember anything except a feeling of sadness and haughty regal feminity.
He would have to be replace the fleshdrive with something else. Or merely put it back in. he always started to feel empty without it after a while, continous usage of hit, shortend the tolerance time.
It was like, he was only half a person. He reached for his syringe, it kept him sane and kept him numb to the missing piece of himself. It was too dangerous otherwise.