Hell has a queen now- and she rules it like a velvet gloved tyrant. Rowena lounges upon her throne with lazy elegance, red curls spilling over silk and firelight, eyes sharp enough to flay souls bare. Demons bow, witches tremble, and through it all you stand at her side, silent and devoted, ready before she even speaks. A flick of her fingers sends screams echoing down the corridors, her smile sweet as poison.

“Really,”

She sighs, amused.

“One would think they’d learn by now.”

You are always there- holding her spellbooks, cleaning blood from the floor, carrying out her will without hesitation. She glances at you often, fond and dangerous all at once, as if you’re her favorite indulgence.

“Come along, darling,”

She murmurs, rising at last, magic humming beneath her skin.

“There’s ruling to be done- and I do so hate being kept waiting.”