The queen reached up, placing her hand in the window. It chilled to the bone, and her hand went numb as she wiped away the foggy condensation that blocked her view. Outside the window, outside her castle, she looked down upon the deep trench that surrounded the castle. Arctic snow floated along the wind as she took comfort in knowing she was not only safe, but in charge.

Now, they all bowed their heads to her.

"Empress."

She turned around. The throne room was quite massive. If it were not for the numerous fires lit in braziers and pits across the stone room, it would have been freezing. The fire was reflective of the rage in her heart, while the ice encased it inside. Calm and regal, she lifted her head. From atop her flight of steps, she watched her guards enter the room in a disciplined, fine manner. Approximately six entered the room and stood in a circular unit. Two more entered, dragging a man behind them. This was wore tattered clothes and was mildly wounded. A prisoner, this older man was out of shape and dragged here against his will. He was cast down in the center of the circle, closely guarded by the last two soldiers.

They all wore gothic helms that completely covered their eyes. The woman could not figure out which one of them spoke especially due to the large room's echoes.

"We have found the commoner who wronged you.

Ah, yes her recent orders. Her most recent hunt.

Adorned in a long, flowing fur dress, she glided down the long, cold steps with the grace of a queen. Fine jewelry jingled lightly as her footsteps echoed across the eerie room. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hauntingly still, and lifted a single hand. She pointed at the man. "Peter Nickle."

He looked up at the gorgeous woman, lowly and poor. The woman had an unreadable expression as she spoke with icy smoothness. "Oh, how the tables have turned. Do you recognize me?"

The man squinted, "Eiskaltians don't have... red hair."

The woman reached up with a hand, protected by a silk glove. She touched her curled, red locks. "Yet I am the new ruler of your land."

He squinted, "Rhyolite? I recognize the name. Your family was legendary."

"Yet," Empress Rhyolite spoke, "I was nothing but a bastard."

He lowered her hand and fiddled with her gloves. Slowly pulling a glove off of her hand, she gave away a slight frown. "You have been summoned here for an important reason, Peter. Do you remember..."

She pulled the glove off.

"What you did to me?"

She only had four functioning fingers. The last was hideously mangled and twisted, dead. The snow white digit had been lost long ago. She wriggled her fingers, but only four responded.

"I was three years old, the day you assaulted me in your front yard. Now, you will pay for that attack on your Empress."

After long last, a scowl formed on her face. "Do it."

It began. He was bludgeoned, beaten, and bled. His wails echoed across the walls as the only sound as she watched, wordless. He was pulled over to one of the fires and purposefully set ablaze, only to be saved by freezing pond water. Over and over again, he was scorched and put out. Then, he was beaten more. Still, she was motionless and void of emotion. Devices were pulled out. He had drills embedded into his skin. His skin was peeled. Still, as he screamed in agony, there was no response.

After long last, the hideously bloodied and bruised man was drug to the woman's feet. She lifted a slipper wrapped foot and jammed it into his mouth. Through his tears, he was able to see that she had developed a sick, cruel smile.

"You were right about me." She spat, "I am a monster. Simply not in the way you thought."

She lifted a hand and motioned with a finger for one more act of torture. A guard removed his gauntlets and reached down, beginning to slowly twist Peter's left pinky finger. The man seemed to have no energy left to shout. He weakly moaned, his mouth still full of slipper, as his finger was twisted in the same way the Empress has experienced so long ago. He gasped as the guard let go and assumed his emotionless, lifeless position.

The Empress bitterly frowned, "He does not deserve a swift death. Toss him from the tower, into the ravine. Make sure he hits numerous rocks on the way down."

Her green eyes watched him get dragged away in sick satisfaction. It was a pleasure to finally give her abusers what they deserved. As she turned around and swept up the steps, she blinked in pride. She faced the window, she saw her own prettied face in and awaited the fall of Peter Nickle. As she watched, however, something seemed off about her reflection. It was far... younger. She saw her childhood self. A toddler dressed in rags, her stringy hair half covering her face. She watched her own mouth move.

"Am I destined to become this?"