The Ashford Queen

With her first shuddering breaths taken on her own in years, she sang her brother to sleep as he breathed his last. She felt his soul floating invisibly from his body, his face a mask of peace and repose. He had completed his fifteen-year long mission to protect her. Now she must avenge him. Drizzling her now-flammable blood over his body, she cremated his remains then and there since she lacked the strength to carry him just yet. At first, her long legs wouldn't hold her and she stumbled about like a newborn foal, her slender fingers clutching onto everything she could reach. Slowly but surely, the dizziness passed and her limbs warmed as her circulation improved. Her damp skin began to dry on her way upstairs. She remembered the wardrobe where her clothes were kept and drew out an exquisite silk gown. It was purple, her favorite color. As she tugged it over her bare skin, she admired the way it flattered her fair looks in the mirror. No longer was she the impish little pixie-like child genius of the old days--she was truly now a queen and the last of her admirable bloodline. Needing a rest from the sudden burst of activity, she flopped over on the enormous bed and stroked the velvet covers with her gloved hands. The one question she had time to ponder before the invaders arrived was:
"What do I do now?"