Condesce and Feferi: "Après moi, le déluge." (After me, the flood.) - alleged quote from Louis XV of France.
Feferi can look in the mirror and see her ancestor. She can see the slope of her horns, how they're thickening at the bottom and how tall they're getting (just like her ancestor's). She can see the power of an empress in the cords of muscle running down her arms and legs and thighs. She is power incarnate, just like her ancestor.
She can hear the whispers of her lusus in her mind. They've been growing louder every sweep. At some point, it will become unbearable and she will be forced off-planet in an attempt to take the throne. Then she will ascend the throne of Her Imperial Condescension, take the empire into her own class, and take on a title of her own. She sometimes thinks she likes Her Imperial Luminescence. Maybe, when she's queen…
But that is still sweeps away.
Or at least that's what you think. You're six sweeps old when your lusus' shrieks become unbearable. You're small and scrawny, and all the cords of muscle in your entire body are quivering with the pain of it. Eridan comes with you, declares that he loves you too much to let you go alone (you know he means he loves with you to let you die alone, you don't expect to survive this).
Your ancestor is huge. She's triple your height, and her hair alone could hide Eridan and his skyhorse in it. She's stronger than you, looks stronger than you, and Eridan is beside you fighting his instinctive urge to kneel before his ruler.
"Whale, guppy?" Your ancestor smirks, leaning on her 2x3-dent in a very amused way. "Mom send you all the way here to trout-a krill me?" And then she laughs. Long and hard, and you hear it reverberate in your thorax all deep and powerful. You snarl, because your lusus' screams haven't abated and you're so angry at everything, and Eridan is cowering in the corner and this bitch is going to die.
Your ancestor has her back turned to you when you shove your own 2x3-dent deep into her thoracic cavity. She gurgles, and when you pull it out with a vicious twist, she stares at you with disbelief. Her condescension was the death of her. You pant, and you can hardly believe you're alive. Six sweeps old, and queen. Eridan stands, but there is a fear in his eyes that make you question how pale he is for you.
And that angers you more than anything. So you straighten up, and with fuchsia painted hands, you direct him out the doors. "Get the court subjugglator," she snarls, suddenly tired of her moirail's face. "There's going to be some changes around here."
After me, she thinks as she prods her ancestor's body with a toe, the deluge.