How does one make a queen from one who is anything but regal? From a vessel devoid of that charm, that pride within their buxom chest, or the tone and comportment pre-eminent of a royal birth? How does one become a queen when one has never been guided by a sense of duty where each word carries immense weight and every flit and gesture can topple men and monuments? How does one…
"Through embellishment, deceit, and lies," whispering into Glyea's ears, Toma brushed her hair back with its claw-like nails, combing them thoroughly. "You must drink from the goblet of a great many matriarchs before you, and although your taste is different and so is your demeanor, you will puppet their actions as if they were your own."
