Act 1 Scene 1

Profanities of all colors were being thrown across the room. Mugs were being slammed against the resin glazed mahogany table. The men's chairs shuffled across the floor as they stood in protest. The documents at hand lay crushed and wrinkled under the men's harsh hands. The Queen sat quietly, unable to drown out their yelling by massaging her temples.

It seemed as though the 14th century would be the same as the last. And the one before it.

"ENOUGH." She slammed her dinner knife into the mahogany.

The forty lords looked to the head of the table where she sat. She lay sunken in her throne like chair, not slouched of course (her centuries of royalty had forbidden her from such a comfortable position). Her head tilted to the side, resting on her left hand. Her fingers massaged her temple methodically as her right hand still held the impaled knife. Her soft brown curls grazed her cheeks and lay long as they caressed her breasts, reaching just above her waist. Her eyes a piercing brown; they seem deeper than any well, for they have seen thousands of lifetimes.

All were silent as she spoke.

"I won't hear any more of this. You humans never change. Every century I sit down with your leaders and argue and fight until a settlement is made. Then, conveniently, sixty, seventy, even eighty, years pass, and everyone who signed the contract is dead. Then, their sons come to this counsel, and claim these signatures invalid! That they did not agree to their father's alignments!"

A pause.

"Do you take me for a fool?!"

Elizabeth sits up in her chair and leans forward.

None answered.

"These contracts are binding for at least ten generations! Your father's sign it in their blood! In your blood! And yet you call it a fake? Unjust?"

She collapses down again.

"There will be no negotiations. This counsel is dismissed."

A man stepped forward to protest and stopped at the sight of the Queen's protective guards. Six of them lined the walls around the room, grasping the hilt of their swords. Elizabeth moves her left hand over her eyes and shoes the men away in an exhaustive manner with her right hand.

The men shuffle out of the chamber, grumbling within themselves. This fight was not over.

Elizabeth sighs. This fight would be eternal.

Present day. A young man stands in the cobblestone corridor. A medieval castle in a futuristic city. He looks up at a painting.

Men of age stand around a wooden table. Their arms extend in furious gestures. Angry grimaces lines their faces. Scrolls are tossed into the air and thrown to the floor. At the very end of the table, in the right of the painting, is a woman. Her skin is fair, her hair cascading brown curls. Large starlight colored wings protrudes from her back and press against her chair uncomfortably. She covers her eyes in disappointment with one hand, and waves off the men with the other.

The young man puzzles over the painting. Looking from the woman, back to the men. Only upon a third look does he realize the men are all blindfolded.

A small group approaches from behind. Suddenly, many of the footsteps stop and only one pair advances. They click softly with skill, but show a firm walk of authority.

"How do you find it?"

Without taking his eyes from the painting.

"I don't understand."

"I mean, what do you think of it?"

"No, I don't understand why they are arguing with her? She is an angel. She is just trying to help them…"

A Sigh.

"But they cannot see that. They are blindfolded." She advances to his side.

"Why?"

"They do not see, because they do not wish to see."

The young man looks beside him. He gasps.

"You're…." The woman in the painting.

"I will see you at the counsel, human." Elizabeth walks away joined by her guards who were at the pause.

"Oh, and human..." She looks over her shoulder and smirks, "don't bring your blindfold."