Third POV:
The drafty chamber was dim, lit only by the eerily pulsating glow of slime-green lava lamps. In the middle of the lavishly decorated room sat a withered, tired-looking old woman. She was staring intensely out a tiny window, into the starless night sky, lost in dark thoughts.
With a sudden crashing bang that shattered the overwhelming silence of the room, a polished mahogany door swung violently open, and Setrákus Ra – Beloved Leader, King of the Earth, Ruler of the Galaxies, (etc. etc.), stepped in.
Something's happening. The shriveled old woman seems to be transforming. Her limbs become longer, her body straightens out, and her matted white hair becomes long and jet-black. All signs of wrinkles dissolve into her pale smooth skin and she stands tall. This old woman had transformed into a striking young lady, beautifully elegant in every way. Ella.
She gazed impassively at Setrákus Ra's grotesque figure, and in a tight voice, she snapped, "What do you want?"
The Beloved Leader shook his head slowly, as if marveling at her small display of defiance. Curling his scarred lips in a menacing sneer, he drawled, "My dear granddaughter, one hundred and fifty years, and you still don't accept your true identity?"
Her eyes burnt with dark fury and she retorted, "For the last time, what do you want?"
The Beloved Leader's eyes harden, and a hint of steel crept into his voice, "Have a seat, Ella." (Although she knew he meant: "Sit down, or I'll hurt you. Badly.")
Struggling to maintain her impassive mask, she dragged a chair, faced him, and sat.
"I'm sure you've not forgotten this very important time of the year," he began silkily, "The annual Starving Games, my favourite time of the year, besides my birthday of course." He chuckled at his own joke. Ella, however, remained stone-faced and rigid.
He continued, drawling, "But don't you think this year should be special? Afterall, it's been exactly 150 years since the Great Conquest of Earth."
He lifted his palm gracefully, and using telekinesis, he swung the door open, revealing a Mogadorian General holding an ornately carved obsidian box. He strides up to Ella, flipping the lid of the box open.
An evil glimmer danced in the Beloved Leader's cold eyes, "This year, you get to do the honours. You get to pick the idea for the 150th Starving Games."
Her eyes were alive with fear, but she knew she had no choice. They would make her pick, one way or the other. Ashamed of her shaking fingers, she reached her hand into the box, and drew out a folded piece of blood-red paper.
Fingers fumbling, she unfolded it. What she saw made her face go pale, and the paper fluttered through the still air, and onto the soft carpet.
The Beloved Leader grinned, "I was hoping you would pick that one."
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Again, please review :)