Demona rolled over in her canopied bed, stretching her wings and tail slowly. There was an ache inside of her, a persistent ache that wouldn't leave her be no matter how long she slept. She longed to be held, to be safely wrapped in the security of another person's embrace as she had been so long ago. Reflexively, she touched the tiara that still, after all these centuries, rested sedately on her brow. She was no foundling now, however; she knew exactly who she was.
A woman doomed to spend her eternity alone, thinking of nothing but the vengeance that had brought her here. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, but there was no one around to wipe them away. Thunder rumbled ill-temperedly in the east, a sudden gust of wind bringing with it the heavy, sweet scent of rain. Demona rested her head in her hands for a few moments, allowing her spacious apartments to fill with the hoarse sounds of her suppressed sobs, then rose and spread her wings, gliding out into the storm and letting her tears mingle with the rainwater as they would.