It was night not unlike any other night in the Imperial Palace. The Lich Ahtieli, Dread Lady of the Empire, pored over yet another seemingly useless tome dredged from some dusty library.

The skeletal form's mouth-opening twitched in what might have been a smirk on a human face as "she" remembered her time as Empress. Most saw her fall as something to be ashamed (or at least angered) over. Not her. Everything went as planned, for she needed less distractions from her true endeavors.

If the simpletons who had been named Emperor after her had ever suspected her plan, they might have named her Anathema...or, if they were wise, they'd have demanded to be part of them.

For who, after all, could sit in the Throne of the Emperor and not lust for more power than the Gods themselves wielded?

Making a "tsk" noise, the Dread Lady returned her attention to the dusty tome, re-reading what she had skimmed while lost in reverie. "Nothing here" she mused, and moved to toss the book on the pile of discarded knowledge. As the skeletal fingers began the motion, though, a scrap of paper fell from between two of the pages, fluttering harmlessly toward the floor.

Moving with inhuman speed, the Lich snatched the paper in mid-air,
eye-sockets narrowing. Reading quickly, and then more slowly to be sure, she gasped in shock - shock for the first time in remembrance. This was it!