A Dream and a Plea
Meilyr was in a magnificent throne room, its pillars built of black stone and its ornaments clad in expensive purple. Tapestries and depictions of a thousand battles littered its seemingly endless walls, moving like shadows under the light of a single, swaying chandelier.
A mighty seat stood at its end, dwarfing the surrounding opulence with a sense of timeless regality. It was as if the entire chamber had been erected for the sole purpose of subliming it and not the reverse.
What is this?
A giant figure, far greater than any human in both aura and bearing, greeted Meilyr's sight. While oozing an unmistakable majesty, its characteristics were strangely blurred, leaving only the soundless trickle of its ichor.
For, indeed, it was a bleeding corpse, with its hacked limbs carefully put in place to mimic the posture of a living being. Its severed head, hanging from the tiniest of threads, unhinged its pale jaw in a morbid snap.