The throne room of the Witch Kingdom was vast in a way that couldn't be measured in meters or columns, but in presence, in power accumulated over ages that seemed to still echo in the black walls adorned with ancient runes that glowed softly, as if breathing along with the world itself. At the center of it all, elevated by wide steps and enveloped in an atmosphere that made the air seem denser, sat Eleanor.
Seated on her throne.
Immobile.
Majestic.
Her red hair fell like a living shadow over her shoulders, contrasting with her pale skin and intense eyes that held a kind of knowledge few would dare to gaze upon for long. She didn't need to move to dominate the space. Her mere presence was enough to keep the hall in absolute silence, as if any unnecessary sound were considered an affront.
Time seemed slower there.
Controlled.
Submissive.
