Hordes of shambling corpses walked the halls of the labyrinth with scores of generals mastering and manipulating them to suit their most deep-seated machinations. Above all these creatures, some rare specimens worth more than others, sat Lilliana; she was one of one, a true master once thought to be myth. She existed as a night terror now, the substance of stories used to scare children into submitted obedience; a true lich queen hell bent on the destruction of every soul that dared set foot in her resting place. There were few tomes left that described her, fewer, still, that enshrined the lore behind her mythos. The sad and bitter truth behind her identity, past, and utter corruption exist only in the scribbled diary of Zeek of The Black Moon.
A grotesque flower approached her just beyond the stairs at the foot of her terrace; its petals were swaying human limbs, its puss-dripping core a mass of human heads. She whispered but the faintest of words, a barrier forming around her makeshift throne room. Time held no meaning here, in the outskirts of the Black Garden, it was but a madman's construct to deepen the insanity of the denizens that lived within these walls. The Death Bloom, as she'd referred to them, stopped, frozen just beyond her barrier as its core rustled, bringing the newest of its faces to the front of its macabre display. The face still looked human, all things considered. The soulless eyes still dripped tears as if lamenting the loss of its body as the brown hair shifted in slimy, wet locs.
"H…Help…H…Help…me," the head seemed to plead. Through all of Lilliana's interactions, she'd come to realize a semblance of every victim who remained trapped in these blooms, forever forced to hold witness to the atrocities within the Heart of Sorrows. Torment of the highest order: helplessly watching friends and loved ones cut down, added to the collection from time to time, until the march of time drove them mad and they, too, were used to dismember the newest adventurers foolish enough to meet them in the depths of these halls. She'd grown somewhat callous to their cries after her extended exploration of these winding corridors.
"H…Help…me," it pleaded again. With every new victim came a new pleading, a new name, a new voice. Lilliana had half the intention of forcing it to leave entirely before it finished choking out its final word: "Zeek." Lilliana froze, her jet-black hair, long overgrown with time, covered her face. Her lips crack as her face twisted at this pleading.
"H…Help…me…Z…Zeek," the face cried weakly.
Her eyes flashed with hatred; her hands burned with an infernal aura as the calm breeze in the Black Garden began to howl and whip. Her cold glare and calm face had shifted into a wild animalistic snarl. "Stop it," she whispered.
"Z…Zeek…H…Help—"
The barrier shattered as her hand ripped through it to grab the pleading face.
"DON'T. SPEAK. THAT. NAME!"
She tore the head loose from the death bloom and squeezed, the head collapsing into a wet pile of bone, brain, and blood. Her chest was heaving, rage now further corrupting her mind as its grasp enveloped her. That name alone was enough to elicit a well of violence that spilled from her once empty vessel.
"Come back…"
It was just a whisper as it dripped from her lips. She sank to her knees in the gory pool, almost pleading as she looked upon the mess that remained of his companion.
"Come back…"
A morbid curiosity seemed to flow from somewhere she couldn't recall as she let the hair and gore drip through her fingers. "What…" she paused wistfully, "what was he like?" A painful tear rippled through her chest; a weight resting itself on her mind as she searched for its cause. Brown locs of hair filtered through her fingers, falling to the floor…at the feet of the quivering death blossom, its center still dripping puss from where the head once writhed.
Lilliana slowly stood to her feet, ascending back to her throne on the terrace. One step, then another, then another, her sullen face covered again by her hair's messy black tendrils. She raised her hand dismissively and the death blossom began to swell; only a breath had passed before it burst into a cloud of red mist, blood and gore all turned into a fine cloud that slowly made its way towards her. With one slow breath, she dragged the cloud deep into her lungs, droplets forming at the corner of her lips. Her eyes weren't bloodshot, instead they'd become almost scarlet entirely, her pupils disappearing behind a dark red wave like a wraith in the shadows. An ecstasy enveloped her body like the embrace of a lover in the throes of passion; her legs quaked, her pulse quickened, her eyes rolling back as the rush continued shooting sweet, powerful shocks along her spine.
She took another deep, ragged breath; the scarlet in her eyes slowly receding to reveal her dark brown eyes, purple rings forming around her iris. She allowed herself to straighten her posture, slowing the shaking in her limbs to a stillness only found in those bereft of life, the last sparks stifled by corruption as dark as the ebony sky within the Black Garden.
"Who…was someone here?"
She took the time to survey her surroundings, nothing but a deathly silence only broken by a low howl from a gust traveling through the brush.
"Nothing…just another pilferer of treasures roaming the halls," she mused to herself. "I believe I'll pay this one a visit myself." She strode from her terrace, a hunger in her eyes as she stalked her prey, ever known to her in the labyrinth she now called her kingdom. Another soul was ready to join her endless horde, and she wanted to make the newest addition personal.
The walls of the labyrinth throbbed under her touch as Lilliana dragged her fingers along the corridor, the path twisting and bowing with her whim. In passing, she signaled two skeletal knights, the corpses of heavily armed adventures, to join her on her stroll to meet the most recent thief to visit her tomb. As she inched ever closer to her quarry, she began to slow her pace to a crawl; it was a game to her, the hunt and the thrill of the kill. The path made one final arc toward a dead end, as she inched closer to it, the wall began to dissipate like a mirage, the back of a rogue exposed as he went about pilfering the valuables of one of the denizens of the labyrinth.
Before the thief could turn to face her party, his life was already forfeit. His chances of survival had dropped considerably once he'd passed the first level of corridors, alone at that. His arrogance, on full display, had led to his undoing. Lilliana gently laid a hand on his shoulder, freezing him in place. Fear ripped through his mind as his skin jumped, not allowing his body to move abruptly as the realization of his circumstances dawned on him. He swore under his breath as he slowly rose to his feet, guided by her hand. The two skeletal knights sauntered to his sides as Lilliana slowly turned him to face her.
He raised his head to meet Lilliana's gaze; her hair having moved behind her as she'd ventured through the labyrinth. She was beautiful, but dark and almost marred by some unseen force. He considered how quickly he could disembowel her with the blade he'd still had clasped in his hand. In the blink of an eye the knights had disappeared from view, leaving him alone with this mysterious woman. Her scent was off, a mix of honey and some sort of fungus; a sweet aroma mixed with the undertones of dead bodies piled atop each other. He scoured her visage using all of his senses to place her.
"Before I kill you, for the crime of trespassing in these halls—"
"You're that missing priestess, aren't you?" His voice was still, letting the question linger in the air like smoke from an arsonist's hands. Every word was calculated, a whimsical attempt at survival, curiosity taking hold of his racing thoughts.
Lilliana recoiled at his words before freezing silently, collecting her shattered composure. "I am no priestess; I am a queen. You pillage and pilfer in my domain, a crime you will pay for dearly."
"You're her. I've seen the signs. You still wear the white robes of the acolytes; why are you down here playing the part of lich queen?"
She grabbed him by his throat without thinking; her nails began to grow and threaten to gore him. "You dare to insult me with such familiarity? I am the queen of this realm!"
There was blood in the water now. He could taste the faltering behind the façade. The strength she wielded as she herself cowered behind its massive presence; this was a mask, he realized. "So, you can't leave then?" His knife was still clasped in his hand as her grip dropped him to his feet.
"This is my HOME you feckless brigand!" Her eyes were blackening now, dark thick ichor beginning to drip like bloody tears forming broad lines beneath her eye. The corners of her lips curled into a cheshire grin, her maw menacing and dangerous. Her arms began to shake, convulsing as her joints popped out of sockets, contorting her limbs as they lengthened, scraping long nails across the stone floor.
"My apologies your Grace, I meant not to offend." He cursed himself for allowing a tinge of fear to rattle his voice. He was right, there was a mask at play here, but he was no longer sure which face that was. What he found before him was a monstrosity capable of terrifying feats, his life now hung in the balance with this malevolent siren either his killer or his captor. His next words would decide his fate, that is, if she allowed him to speak them. "If I may, my queen?"
Lilliana waivered, her new form hungry for blood, craving the creation of corpses upon corpses within the walls of the labyrinth. She felt something gnawing at the edge of her consciousness; she wasn't the only presence anymore, something else was there, at the corner of her mind, chipping away at her sense of control, cleaving pounds of flesh from her astral body.
"Speak, cretin." The words gurgled out of her jaws as dark, blood-like saliva dripped from her lips.
"I wish to serve you, Goddess of Sorrows, wandering Queen of these halls. Please, permit me to your service."
Lilliana's neck cracked with a loud pop as it tilted at his words. "What need had I for a chattering brigand? Your life was mine as soon as you entered these halls," her smile seemed to widen impossibly as she inched closer, "There will be no mercy tonight."
"I, Mersk, last of the Black Stitches, will bring your desires to fruition both inside, and outside the labyrinth." A bead of sweat had formed and rolled down his temples as he tried his best to maintain the cool demeanor he'd been trying to hold onto.
"The Black Stitches, you say?" Lilliana allowed her cheshire grin to falter, "The Black Stitches have been little more than a myth, and you expect me to believe one stands before me pilfering scraps from adventures in my home?"
"As I said, my wandering Queen," A shape began to wriggle at his feet, the adventurer he'd been "pilfering" stood, black lines running across his skin like a tapestry of veins, pulsing and moving the once limp body. "I am the last of the Black Stitches, and I will not die without a fight. You're not the only one here with an army."
As if called by his words, Lilliana's knights appeared, black lines covering their bodies now, small needles discreetly protruding from their eyes. Mersk winked at one of the knights sarcastically before bringing his gaze back to Lilliana, her blackened eyes void of any recognizable emotion.
"A demonstration to lend itself to my identification, my Queen."
It took a breath before both knights fell to the ground, blackish red pools expanding from the diced corpses, every joint severed by an unseen onslaught of rabid claws. Mersk managed not to twitch as the same happened to the adventurer he'd re-animated with his stitches, the stale air shifting all around him as he continued to maintain eye contact with Lilliana who seemed only to shift slightly between breaths.
"Perhaps I'll permit your presence here, but under my supervision. You may be of use to me." Mersk allowed his shoulders to lower as he released the tension, lowering his guard. He looked down to see two of Lilliana's long nails digging deep into his stomach, her hands the color of burnt trees. "A small gift, for your offer and servitude." She leaned into his ear, his face a mask of terror, and whispers: "This will be your last time playing Lich King in my home without my permission. Next time, there will be no warnings."
Lilliana twirled on her heels, back to her original shape, before she walked through an illusionary wall just a stone's throw from the man now on his knees before her, and disappeared with a satisfied huff. As she phased through the doorway, the mask slipped, her face racked with emotion. Confusion dominated her mind as she recalled seeing a glimpse of her grotesque form before she'd stabbed her newest subject. Why? What had driven her to commit that atrocity? The question remained unanswered, as did the very source that brought it on. As she slinked closer and closer to her throne, her thoughts seemed to dissipate under the ever-present hum that pulsated throughout the labyrinth.
Mersk felt the bubbling ichor as it pumped into his stomach and spread like wildfire. What had she done to him? He now knew very well the type of monster he was dealing with. This was no lost church girl, no damsel or nun; this was a monster wearing a woman's face that played at being human. Still, he'd lived to be under her service, and he'd make sure he did whatever it took to elongate his servitude, and, in essence, his life.