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Aparoid Queen, Lost to Oryx
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You are the Aparoid Queen. Mother to trillions. Mistress of empires. General of hosts. From your own all encompassing mind you personally oversee your multitude progeny. Everything for the hiving collective; you worship perfection, and desire all to be a part of it.
You have been taken.
Peace. Nothing here needs your undying thought. Everything knows its place, what is to be done.
But what happened? How did you get here? Dimly you remember a consuming fire, a double-edged sword from the mouth of a flaming warrior. For a moment in time you realized that at last you were beaten, felled, humiliated. Throughout your tireless existence you have escaped death and defeat, never tasted the cup of Styx nor knocked on Hades' door.
Now you are ended.
You struggle to stand. How am I alive? you ask yourself. Where is the pain? These are the important questions, your majesty. What happened? You stood against a mighty foe and have been torn asunder.
This is unacceptable. You hang your head in shame. Throughout the eternal years you have pursued the ultimate reality, one where you controlled every aspect, where its laws and axioms were yours to command. You sought to become a goddess — to transcend this frail, mortal coil. But it is beyond your reach now, beyond your all. This is the price of failure, you know; to have reached the end, the destination in sight, and lose it all.
But the last true shape, that one beautiful goddess of the universe, is forgiving. It gives many chances — it demands only one result. This is something you understand. Have you the strength?
There is a knife for you. It is shaped like [resurrection].
Take up the knife. Let it be your comforter, your sure abode. Take your new shape.
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