Eleonor was seated on her throne in the main hall of the Witch Kingdom, her elbow resting on one of the ornate arms and her fingers lightly supporting her chin. The throne was tall, made of dark stone, ancient silver, and living runes that moved slowly across its surface like lazy serpents. Behind her, immense stained-glass windows filtered violet light over the polished floor, giving the hall a solemn appearance that perfectly matched the position of Witch Queen.
Before her, however, that solemnity was slowly dying beneath the weight of accumulated reports.
Exelia stood beside the throne, impeccable as always. Her posture was that of a general even during administrative tasks, shoulders straight, gaze firm, and voice clear as she read each document. A pile of scrolls floated to her left, sustained by magic, while a smaller pile remained to her right, composed of the reports already analyzed. Unfortunately, the pile on the left seemed determined not to shrink.
