White, pure and untainted snow fell from the ashen skies above. Their crystalline formations freely falling at a glacially slow pace. Like blossom petals descending from an unseen tree high above the layer of low hanging clouds. The fluffy ice fractals blanketing the barren forest, leaving nothing uncovered.

A figure, dressed in an umbral dark overcoat stepped through the silent forest trail, his boots crunching upon the layer of fresh snow that fell along his chosen path. His gait was measured, gliding along the treeline like a haunting spectre of death. Each foot fall in perfect synchronization with the last. He kept at this pace until eventually coming to a point in the covered track. Then, suddenly and without warning, he stopped.

The man stood as still as an obsidian statue, unmoving and impassive. His tall and foreboding aspect appeared in stark contrast to the monochrome winterscape that surrounded him, an invader to this peacefully silent world. The birds and other critters that had yet to hibernate hushed at the omen's presence. It was as if his deathly guise alone had killed all things in his wake, even the very air itself.

Vacant hazy eyes peered out in a thousand-yard stare at the frozen world, his orbits roaming the forest trunks as if searching for something. These ancient deciduous trees were bare of all leaves, devoid of every sign of activity. Their grey lifeless bark forming an endless sea of spikes and gnarled twisting branches. Plenty of shadowy spaces to hide an unseen predator, or perhaps assassin. Any number of dangers could be lurking out of sight, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

Movement. A twig snapped and a hushed voice squeaked, though muffled, as if a mitt was placed over their mouth to cover their escaping breath at the last second.

The man chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he made his way over to the source of the sounds. "Olivia, you'll have to do better than that." He said, stepping around the slumbering tree trunk to be greeted with a frightened yelp. The surprised little girl's face looked up at him, her wide purple eyes shining brightly against the sea of ivory white that surrounded her. If it wasn't for those youthful eyes and the purple jacket, she wore her features would have blended perfectly to the icy barren world.

"Aww no fair Papa!" Olivia whined, "You've won the last three times in a row now!" The young girl huffed, crossing her arms in protest. "I swear, if it wasn't for that icicle falling down my neck you wouldn't have found me!" The girl pouted; cheeks puffed.

The man chuckled; it was a deep nearly silent thing. He was careful not to tax his respiratory system, lest his laughter develop into a hacking cough. He kneeled down, patting his daughter upon her silvery hair in congratulations. "Indeed, you did very well in hiding your presence my little gem. I surely wouldn't have found you otherwise." Olivia's face turned up into a satisfied smile at the praise, nuzzling into the warm gloved hand that pressed down onto her face.

"But," The man's voice soon shifted, no longer the warm fatherly tone he'd held before. Olivia's smile faltered, immediately sensing something was troubling her father. "You cannot always blame outside circumstances for your own actions. Things will not always go your way, and there will be those that will seek to undermine you from within and without. You must learn how to keep yourself calm in those times; despite what troubles you may experience. Your actions should always be yours, and yours alone, nobody else's."

Those innocent purple eyes looked up at her father's serious frown, puzzled, and not quite understanding what he was saying. It was similar to other lessons he'd tried to teach her in the past, but as before, she was still only a child, and as such she couldn't yet grasp the grave meaning behind her parent's worldly words. Instead, she merely nodded along, hopeful that if she agreed with hum, it might satisfy her father's expectations from her. "I will papa, I'll remember! Promise!"

Either sensing that his lesson had yet to dig its way into his child's mind, or the futility in attempting to pass on wisdom to a mere child, the black clad man stood back up to his full height. A sorrowful expression emerged on his ashen features. He wasn't sure how many years he had left before the disease took him, but he would keep teaching her all that he could with what little time he had remaining. "...I'm sure you will someday. I pray for it."

Despite the sickness ravaging inside his body the man effortlessly picked up his child and placed her upon his shoulders. Olivia giggled at suddenly being carried this way, the world looked entirely different from up high!

"We shouldn't dally too much; your mother and baby brother must be anxiously waiting for us." The man pulled out a silver pocket watch, a stylized letter 'I' was engraved into the front cover. He observed the time, it was getting quite late. "Dinner should be ready soon, and if Lydia is right about the menu, it should be a great feast tonight."

The promise of food enticed the young girl, she excitedly bobbed her head, pulling on her father's collar as if his coat were the reigns to some sleigh. "Oooh I really hope there's cake! I could eat a whole ton of it!" A gurgling rumble emanated from the child's stomach, echoing her eager statement. The father laughed, good naturedly and unreserved, unlike how he had before he didn't hold back in enjoying the moment with his eldest child. It cost him dearly though, as his daughter cringed in embarrassment, with her burning face buried in her mitts Olivia didn't see the blood spatter along the trail, the crimson dotting in their wake.

"You'll... I'm sure you'll get your just deserts later my dear... If you promise to be good during your lessons and behave yourself." The man wiped at the corner of his face, removing any trace of his illness. "If you do this Sanguinala I'll see if I can't get you the best cake this side of the Imperium."

The promise of sweets soon erased the girl's flustered frown. Brightly she beamed an innocent smile, wondering what flavor of confection it might be. "I will Papa! I promise!"

Lackadaisically the pair made their way back to the Vomia château further along the path. The gothic structure a towering bastion in this remote ancient forest. The girl atop the man's shoulders humming a soft melody in time to her father's footsteps.

=][=

After Lydia rapt her white gloved hand against the gigantic wooden dining hall door nothing seemed to immediately happen... Much to my eternal relief; I had half expected to be ambushed by a kill team the second I arrived at our destination. As the seconds started to tick by, with zero activity and a building sense of unease I found my heart rate had yet again begun to pick up speed, the little muscle in my chest reasserting itself back to its normal uncomfortably brisk 100bpm pace.

Lydia and I had both found ourselves standing there like statues in the practically deserted palace hallway, waiting like a pair of dumb-assess for the portal to open up for us. But, as time flowed by us with little change it dawned upon me that we'd been stuck here quite a while...

"Huh, well that was kinda anti-climactic..." I said as I begun to feel the weight of the awkward silence filling the air, the stale dusty taste was becoming highly intolerable. My blood had been pumping for some horror to jump out at the mere touch of the door, not left hanging like this. I resignedly looked over to Lydia, "We're gonna have to wait here, aren't we?"

"Yes... It seems you're right, my apologies." The maid also seemed to be a bit put out by the lack of reaction from her polite knocking. "This indeed might take a few minutes M'lady," Lydia half-confidently assured, sensing my continued discomfort, though her words might have also been directed towards herself as well. "Normally there would be several door servitors stationed here to work the grand hall's holy mechanisms, however, they're currently being relegated to other more important menial tasks within the spire at the moment due to our... Short staffing issues at present." Lydia grimaced at the understatement.

I sensed there was something important tucked away inside that last topic about our lacking manpower that should worry me, but honestly, I had too much to stress about at present that I couldn't give much of a damn how many servants we employed in the hive palace. Judging alone by the distance we'd walked already this whole palace must be miles upon miles large, so a small army of servants to maintain it all was to be expected. However, as far as I was concerned, the fewer the faces I saw the better. If this palace had been chock full of servants and bumbling hanger-on nobles, then there would be a far greater chance of having some dribbling Emperor botherer accusing me of being a heretic and setting me ablaze after an Inquisitor mind flayed me... So in my paranoid mind the fewer the souls here the better, even if it cost me some decently competent doormen.

...I could do without the eerie silence encapsulating the palace though, wasn't there supposed to be someone always playing the organ in the far distance or chanting in some High-Gothic choir in 40k? The lack of such noises made these large endless corridors seemed more and more tomb-like by the minute. Where only the deathless void existed... Only the ticking of a nearby clock reminded me I wasn't deaf.

"Butler, your family's personal servitor, should be on the other side tending to the mistress and young prince at the moment, so we'll just need to sit patiently until he comes to us."

"Riiiight..." I didn't much feel like waiting out here longer than I needed to. The open hallway had little cover to hide behind, and as Lydia had demonstrated earlier even tucking myself behind any of the art displays wouldn't save my hide. My safety belonged on the other side of this door now or back in my chambers, and Lydia had made it clear we weren't heading back anytime soon. "Or maybe they didn't hear you? You could try knocking again."

Lydia just looked back down at me, an unreadable expression on her face. "Believe me, Butler's hearing augments are top notch. He can hear us, the hushed frivolous whispers of the maids several floors down, and perhaps even the vermin scurrying about inside the walls. If he actually bothers to do any pest control, I can hardly tell, I've never seen him once assist the maids in taking care of them." Lydia looked a bit annoyed at that but carried on. "Your father saw personally to that abomination's construction himself, paid a small fortune for it too. Butler is designed and built to have only one purpose; to be your house's Seneschal... in a manner of speaking." Lydia grimaced.

"Though he may lack, well, a more personal side, he does his duties and preforms admirably. So, trust me, he'll be here shortly."

"Okay, that's cool and all I guess." I said, "But do we really need to wait on someone to open it for us though?" I asked, getting slightly impatient at the holdup. Standing out in the open like this made me feel exposed to whatever may be lurking in the shadows all around us. A few times I even swore I saw a grinning face in amongst the darkness, but before I could blink it'd disappeared... I fuckin hated these spooky ass halls. "Couldn't we just push the door open ourselves and march on in? Or is there like some kind of phoney baloney royal highborn etiquette ritual that needs to be done before we can enter?"

Lydia shook her head, a playful smirk upon her cherry lips, "No no, not quite, it's far simpler than that." She pointed up to the ceiling high above us, at how the door seemingly stretched up into the vaulted stone architecture nearly three stories above us. "It's because it'd take at least fifteen grown men to open this door alone. It weighs almost as much as a Leman Russ. But please, if you think you can move such an impossibly large obstacle be my guest M'lady."

"Oh..." I stared dumbly up at the twenty-foot-tall oaken wood paneling, I'd been so focused on being stuck in the world of 40k that I'd neglected to take into consideration that I was, of course, also inside the world of 40k. Obviously they made everything into a goddamn Cathedral that needed a small army of serfs to operate! Building something practical and simplistic was far beyond these people it seemed...

Most of the door appeared to have been hewn from a singular massive tree trunk, making it both highly durable, yet incredibly heavy with no lighter materials included in its construction; whatever tree they'd taken this from must have been larger than a California Redwood, and either they'd chopped down this tree from the local alien species of flora or had perhaps imported it from another distant planet. I'd at least learned some things from Lydia over the last few days regarding this planet; while there was definitely a hive city up upon the planet's surface there were still parts of the original planet's ecosystem left standing, though barely just, as they existed on remote atolls and in regions deemed to not have many valuable resources worth extracting. There were a few boreal forests in the North and near some mountain ranges, but trees like the one this door was made from would have long gone extinct by this point in time at the very least. A total shame, as seeing an alien ecosystem in person would have been at least one positive of being in 40k... So long as it doesn't try to eat you, much like Catachan. Guess I can count my lucky stars I wasn't reincarnated on a deathworld...

Regardless, having so much rare and exotic wood made into furniture and also built into the construction of this palace was just yet another feat of pomp these nobles seem to enjoy wasting their money on... This was all for the door to basically the dining room remember.

"Yeah... Don't think I can move that... Even if I wasn't stuck in this puny body." I relented.

"Then unless M'lady thinks she can somehow summon the strength of a dozen men this instant I suggest we wait until we're let in."

Damn it. I hated when she was right... She always got a dumb smug look on her face afterwards that never seemed to ever go away...

And so, with little other recourse we waited.

And waited.

And waited...

And waited...

And...

The grandfather clock kept ticking further down the hall, the grinding brass metal clockwork of its gears made the only audible noise. It was repetitive, the sound the time piece began to echo inside my head to the point I swore my thoughts were synchronizing with the damnable thing!

As time ticked on, I couldn't help but feel my anxiety begun to resurge, swelling my blood pressure up to dizzyingly new heights. With nothing left to do but wait my thoughts had run rampant, spiralling out of control once more: Was I really ready to meet Olivia's family? Would my horrible acting skills make them see right through my crumbling sanity and straight to the sham that I was hidden beneath this skin? I was wearing their daughter and sibling like a skinsuit after all...

I was certain they'd instantly spot the ruse I would put up, despising and reviling the amalgamated soul I'd become. Could they even forgive me for what I'd done? Even if it'd been entirely by accident that I'd crash landed inside Olivia's body and knocked out her mind in the process... It was a weird and creepy turn of unfortunate events by any measure, and I couldn't imagine anyone accepting anything I say once they find out the truth. ESPECIALLY not within the Imperium!

Lydia, of course, being the lone exception... Though, she was almost as abnormal as I was it seemed...

Still, I couldn't deny I was some kind of monster. An outcast soul originating from before the Age of Strife and stuck in a body that wasn't mine... I didn't belong here, nor could I ever hope to live a peaceful second life as it was.

Even if I were somehow crowned as this planet's regent by mistake. My days were numbered, I was sure, as anyone so much as bothered to look closely at me, I'd be outed for the imposter I really was. It was just a matter of time...

Also, there was the whole fact that in the meantime I'd soon have to worry about a whole planet for me to manage and control. Being a planetary governor sounded great on paper, and sure beat being a menial or a guardsman in this universe, but that was until you realized you were just one wrong word away from being tied to a spike and set aflame by an angry mob with pitchforks.

That level of responsibility also didn't sit right with me; it wasn't mine to inherit or to earn. I was only used to managing an office space and the few junior employees beneath me. And even then, keeping that black company afloat despite its rotten core had been an arduous task I'd barely managed to do. Trying to interpose that managerial skill to a planet inside the Imperium would be nigh impossible! If I tried running this shit solo, I'd be drowned in parchment and legal sanctions from the Adeptus Ministorum in seconds!

Now normally, when a task was too big for yourself to manage alone, your next step would be to borrow the power of your peers to split the workload into manageable chunks. Thinking rationally, it would explain the chain of command in how the Imperium functioned, how the noble houses were delegated portions, of portions, of portions of the unfathomably large Imperium to manage.

I suppose I could try seeking their aid in running this planet...I pondered, until a painful memory resurfaced. ...If I hadn't gone apeshit and beaten the ever living crap out of this planet's nobility within the first few minutes of being awake here...

Yep, I was screwed. Just needed to wait for that assassin's blade to finally slice me up.

All these self-deprecating thoughts kept tumbling inside my head and made my stomach feel like it'd been replaced with a lead cannon ball. By this point I was already hyperventilating like mad.

I had to utilize some of the meditative methods I'd picked up back in the office on Earth, during my boring old past life as an accountant for that shitty company. I'd used these breathing exercises before board meetings with powerful men and women, people who made a thousand times more money in a day than I did in my entire life. Those types of people always made my blood run cold and shot straight through my nerves. It was like they could erase your existence with the amount of money they'd earn in a mere minute, sending their legions of lawyers to sue you to kingdom come (or for the more personal touch, they'd order their lackeys to come after you in some dark alleyway and break your shins.) Dealing with those sorts of oligarchs really made you feel like you were a speck of dust, beholden to their mercy... And I had to stand in front of those corporate demi-gods on a daily basis...

Would this dinner meeting go just the same as back then? How do you even act when meeting fellow royalty? I hadn't punched any of my family by accident, had I? Oh jeez, what if I'd been responsible for the death of another one of Olivia's other relatives? Did... Did I do something wrong by pushing Krumb out that window? How many other lives have I inadvertently killed by my mere words and stupidity?!

Even with the breathing exercises and focusing my attention on a singular point in reality to ground myself I was having a hard time staying cool... Or rather, the air around me started feeling icy upon my skin and my breath was starting to become gradually more and more visible as I panted. I shivered, feeling cold despite the enormous heat I felt knotted inside my chest. This panic attack I was having was really screwing me over. I could still taste a bit of bile on my tongue... Suffice to say I had absolutely zero appetite for dinner at the moment due to the stress.

Unbeknownst to me Lydia had unsheathed a blade in her off-hand and kept a very keen eye directed upon the twitching little pink dressed gremlin standing beside her. Years of experience kept her cool, but they also told her that when a warp sensitive creature became too wound up, they dangerously effected the material world and not just the immaterial.

"Easy M'lady... It's just a family dinner. No need to get so worked up."

I would have snapped back at this maid, telling her what an understatement that was. But, I was too busy trying to tame my emotions to realize Lydia was poising herself to take me out should my unkempt mind run too rampant. I ignored her calming voice, focusing instead on keeping myself grounded with the reality in front of me.

… It didn't help either that the door I was standing before was teeming with all the hallmark traits and trimmings of 40k Imperial aesthetics, mainly skulls of someone's dead great-great-great ancestor glued into the wood as either a show of piety or as war trophies from some long-forgotten war. I shivered at the eyeless stare those skulls bore at me...

Even so, my wide fearful eyes couldn't tear themselves away. I'd found my mind had started to latch onto the smooth dark brown surface, studying it for lack of anything else to keep me occupied...

Every other available square inch of the deeply lacquered wood in this decorative door was reserved for a plethora of engravings that seemed to tell a story. Looking closer I'd noted how the carved artwork in the dark wood seemed to be a recounting of the events of the Emperor during the Great Crusade; a classic to be sure.

There were the Primarchs, of course, or at least Loyalist ones present in the two-dimensional carving, each of them standing heroically and/or triumphantly above one vanquished xenos foe or another. I found it slightly humours they decided to depict Guilliman standing above what seemed to be an Avatar of Khaine, knowing how in ten millennia the Blueberry Boy Scout would be saved from death thanks to the efforts of these 'filthy xenos'. The Eldar and Yvraine coming in clutch at the end of the 13th Black Crusade alongside Belisarius Cawl. Should the sculptor that made this epitaph discover such an event, or how many on the Internet in my original timeline had paired the Papa Smurf with Yvraine he would most likely suffer an aneurism from the Heresy... I too briefly wondered if those two were also actually a thing in this version of the universe or not. I very much doubted it, but stranger things have happened in Cannon according to G Dubs...

Looking over the other figures I could instantly tell which one was the golden boy himself, mostly due to how much more finely carved detail went into The Emperor's figure and almost godly aurora radiating off of the armoured giant. (Also helped it was one of the few parts that had any colour left on it, if you counted gold leafing as a paint pallet. The rest of the paint having long been worn away or faded by time except for the metallic leafing of the Emperor's armor.) I looked up at the man this world and millions of others revered as their god and all-encompassing figurehead. He was carved into the wood as a dashingly handsome man with flowing long jet-black hair and a jutting square jaw. He looked just like how I had pictured the Emperor would be, back when he wasn't just a rattling pile of bones upon the Golden Throne.

I tried to imagine what Big E was really like. Back when he crusaded the stars and even now stuck on his eternal throne; I wondered if he was similar to how he was portrayed in the Horus Heresy books, or maybe the media had gotten it all wrong and he was completely different? Several books and sources seemed to conflict with one another, and he had treated each of his gene sired sons differently according to their retrieval during the Great Crusade. Was he the cruel and callous asshole, like how he was with Angron and Mortarian, or was there more to him, a seemingly compassionate and honourable sort as shown with Vulkan and Leman Russ? There were many sides to this enigmatic figure, many faces he'd shown and many different authors of the books he was in. He could practically be just about any kind of Emperor you could imagine.

Then... What is he like in this version of the fluff I'd landed in?

I already wasn't sure of how I'd be able to survive as it was, with Lydia all but confirming Heresy against the Emperor was considered a death sentence, at least on this world. She was still playing along with my antics and letting me live... For now. But others would not be so lenient. The Grimdark of the far future was no place to hope for a life free of persecution nor understanding. My only hope for long term survival would be to find a shield in worship of this mysterious immortal man. If other zealots, like Brother Martin, believed I was sanctioned by the Big E I may yet live to another day...

I, of course, knew from my own original timeline that the Emperor detested worship and religion of any kind, even if he'd perhaps become a proto-god at this point in history after absorbing the collective faith of Humanity for over ten thousand years. He certainly acted like a god at times, with the Sisters of Battle being a prime example of his godly influence, gifting their faith in miracles and Living Saints. And even back then, his brightly golden armor and larger than the Universe behavior he'd had before his fall during the Horus Heresy did no favors in bolstering his repeated denial of his own divinity.

I wasn't anywhere a religious sort before arriving here in this body, not having seen much point to it back when I was still a man. It all felt kind of hollow, even when I'd been dragged to church by my mother on Sundays and told to pray for goodness and such... I guess now that I found myself in a realm that did in fact contain actual, tangible, god-like beings' religion seemed a bit more palatable. If something far greater than yourself could listen in to your meager prayers and give you aid it didn't seem quite so useless now. And between the Emperor and some of the other fucked up gods I'd much rather hope my prayers would reach his corpse on Terra.

"Hey Lydia," my voice seemed to spook the flame headed maid, as if she hadn't expected me to say anything. Or perhaps it had been the icy chill running from my breath. "May I... Umm, ask you something?" I turned to face her and just barely had time to notice the quick movement of her hand placing something back within her skirt.

"You may..." The maid's braid bobbed with her nod. Peridot green emeralds peered cautiously back at me.

"Can... Can praying to the Emperor really help?"

Taken aback by the seemingly innocuous and obvious question, especially from a mutated daemonically possessed child left Lydia slightly dumbfounded. Still, she endeavored to answer my question as sufficiently as she could. "Why... Yes. Yes it should."

"He doesn't, like, answer you though, right? For example, is it just like a one-way call? Or does he sometimes respond to you, giving a psykic reply and guidance?"

"I'm... Not entirely sure myself." Lydia found herself answering, giving the spiritually indulgent thought a go. "I've heard of Him speaking to others through mediums and visions, but I myself have never been so blessed to receive such grace. To me, my worship of him means that I selflessly give him my devotion, and in turn He aids humanity through his will." Lydia pursed her lips, brow furrowing in a slight curious frown. "Why, do you hear him?"

I sighed, "No, I haven't." I didn't mention the fact that I'd never once tried willingly communing with the Godhead of Humanity. It didn't seem prudent to appear impious. "Just curious is all."

So, as I waited with Lydia for the giant door to open itself and unleash me to a fate of potential castigation and eventual immolation, I felt myself desperate enough to giving faith a try. It's not like I could get anymore fucked than I already was...

Oh merciful Emperor, can you hear me? I began, praying inside my head as we waited before this door. Hey, is... Is this thing on? The face of the Emperor in the door said nothing. Undeterred I clumsily trod on through my prayer.

Sorry for treating you like a god by the way... I know you hate it, like reeeally really hate it, but I'm kinda freaking out at the moment and need to do something before my mind pops in stress. So here I am, thinking out my thoughts to a wooden carved door with Human remains embedded in it... Man, how the fuck did I get here? The wooden carving of the Emperor said nothing, but still I silently went on. If you can spare any sort of miracle, anything at all, or at least give me a hint at how to save my hide in this situation I'd be eternally grateful!

The vacant wooden eyes of the Emperor almost looked to be staring down at me in near certain disdain. They knew what I really was; a coward and an imposter. A far greater sin than being merely an abhuman or lost warp spirit.

However, I felt my golden laurel crown resting upon my head become slightly warmer, though that may have been my imagination as well as the burning embarrassment for stooping to praying to a figure of a man who hated being worshipped. With no answer from beyond the immaterium I realized I was on my own for now...

And just in time too, as from the other side of the grand arboreous door's movement soon met our ears. The noises nearly made me jump until I realized it was the sounds of a series of heavy latches being undone, someone had finally arrived to let us through.

The rumbling clunks of metal bolts being withdrawn sliced through the quiet palace passageway air like gunshots as they fell out of place. Whatever was keeping this door sealed probably could have kept the gates sealed at Helm's Deep by the mere sound they made as they were removed... The need for such security measure wasn't lost on me. I didn't want to imagine what it was these royals wanted to be kept out. A million and one ideas on the kinds of monsters and horrors filling this galaxy, and I had to be stuck on the other side of this door with them...

"Now remember what I told you M'lady. Act exactly how I instructed and perhaps you'll make it through this without causing too much of a stir... Hopefully you won't embarrass yourself in front of the Queen-Regent and the Vomia family tree won't be pruned even further." Lydia half joked.

I looked up to my maid with weary eyes, "...Is it too late to chicken out now?"

"I have no idea what a 'chicken' is M'lady, but I'd have to say yes, yes, it is." Lydia replied dryly.

"Oh damn..."

Slowly, with the noise of ancient gears grinding and hinge joints creaking, the door slothfully opened before us with a sonorous grinding shriek of metal on metal, announcing to all on the other side that we'd finally arrived. My anxiety flared with the loud racket, no way in hell nobody didn't notice the rusty hinges screaming out like that! My hopes for quiet infiltration to the dining table were right out of the question now...

There on the other side a dark shadow fell upon us. Standing there in the opening was an extremely large figure. The man who greeted us was perhaps seven or eight feet tall and dressed entirely in an oversize butler's uniform. The bulk of this servant cast and imposing figure, as he blocked most of the light from leaving the room he guarded

As I beheld this Ogryn sized servant standing before us on the other side of the gargantuan carved panel doors I noted how this person had neither a face nor even head, a bulbous chromed dome had taken the man's spot upon it's shoulders. It reminded me slightly of an Adeptus Mechanicus Kastelan robot, except more polished and not armed with galvanic cannons... Though that'd mean both of the thing's arms weren't as large as tank cannons, and brother, this man was packing! Underneath the navy-blue butler's jacket, I could tell there were some serious pythons! Either bio or mechanical, this servitor could rip a man in half if he so chooses...

I gulped, staring up at the gigantic gorilla servitor blocking the sliver of entry he'd formed in the doorway. It was also then I saw exactly how thick the wood paneling to the entrance was. God damn... This door's thicker than battleship armor! It must weigh a fuck ton! No wonder it'd taken so long to open it up, we'd needed to wait for this absolute unit to show up, no normal Human could have moved this!

The man-machine hybrid looked down upon the both of us, his chrome domed head held an impassive eyeless gaze.

"Butler, I've brought my lady for dinner. Let us through," Lydia commanded the servitor, not at all intimidated by the creepy faceless mandroid nor his oppressive mass.

Butler didn't reply, instead he merely nodded his featureless metal skull slightly, his cogitators having already finished running their identification subroutines cleared our path for entry. With a single wide arm, the giant flung open the large doors the rest of the way, allowing us to enter. An impressive feat, considering each door would have weighed at least a hundred tons.

Lydia moved swiftly past the now wide-open portal and stopped just on the other side. Emerald green eyes peered back at me, a slight question on her raised eyebrow. "Come along M'lady, we're already late as it is."

I followed my maid in through the entrance held open by Butler. I meekly nodded in thanks up to him as I passed. The servitor said nothing but kept tracking my movement until I was safely inside. With the same herculean strength as before Butler closed the entrance behind us, redoing the myriad of security locks as before.

I approached the goliath after he'd finished his task. "Thank you for opening the gate for us... Erm, Butler is it? Is that your name or does everyone just refer to you like that?" The chrome face didn't say anything, only keeping a blank stare directed at me. He was practically three times my height, and to say his lack of response didn't unnerve me would be a total lie.

"Don't mind him M'lady. Butler isn't much of a conversationalist, if you catch my drift." Lydia said beside me, nodding up to the polished surface where his face should be. "And I doubt he'd say much of anything, even if he had a vox installed into him." I just nodded along, realizing how silly it might seem for to be talking to a servitor. Of course, the lobotomized ex-convict wouldn't have the ability to talk.

Still, this was the first time I'd actually met one of these unfortunate slave machines. I always felt bad for them in the lore; AI of course was forbidden, so in order to have any robot you'd have to put some poor soul into a mere machine, repurposed and condemned to be used as the OS for until you were dismantled or torn apart... Just another depressing smack in the head that I was in the Imperium and not the relatively cushy 21st century anymore...

Butler led us forwards past the doors and through an annex leading further into the dining hall.

Across the threshold I took in the sight of yet another cavernous palace room. (I swear, was this place made for giants or something?) However, out of all the rooms I'd visited so far inside this hive this place was perhaps the largest chamber of them all...

I knew Lydia had described to me that this place was where they'd normally hosted banquets and gala dances for some of the top highborn noble families, as well as visiting ship captains, but to me it seemed like you could land an airplane in here! It was mind boggling enormous! A feat of structural engineering as well, since the top half of the spire stood right above this void in that hive; there were no structural beams or columns holding up the weight of stone and metal above it. It all relied upon curving arches in the vaulted ceiling to keep it together, their glyph'd stone formations criss-crossing in the hazy shadows a mile above. Illuminated by millions of coloured stain glass panes formed into hundreds of intricately designed windows, unfortunately far too distant for me to see what exactly they were depicting, but from the other's I'd seen before I could guess they were all cherubs and saints from ages past.

And the amount of gold and riches littering the place! My god, it's like a mini El Dorado in here! Paintings, statues, sculptures, and art of all kinds and varieties littered everywhere. Tactically placed so that wherever you looked you'd always be able to see at least a dozen different kinds of golden trimmed and gilded artifacts. It was lavish to a maddening degree, and it nearly made me grow dizzy just thinking about how much this all cost.

A small army of maid's and male porter staff stood silently to the far side, their heads seemingly glue to staring at the floor. As we walked closer to them, I soon realized the maids were wearing the same uniform as Lydia's, however none had the same adamantine rosarius as I'd seen worn around my maid's neck. Perhaps the necklace was tied to her position as head maid?

All of the maids curtsied in unison as we marched past. Their fluid movements machine perfect in their drill. Not a ripple of cloth out of place. Not a shoe unpolished. Seeing such precise synchronized movement coloured me a bit impressed and gave me the impression of a military parade formation saluting in unison. Damn, were these people actually a private army? Did we hire these girls from the Mordian Iron Guard?

Butler excused himself, falling back into formation at the head of the army of servants. His stoic faceplate imitating the low bow as his fellows.

Before I could ask Lydia about the automaton servants, we neared the center of the massive gallery. In the center of all this sat an incredibly long dining table, perhaps as long as a football field, set with a pearl white tablecloth and enough silverware to kill a planet full of werewolves. There were many high-backed seats set along its length, all of them upholstered in a deep rouge velvet. I noted how only two of the chairs were presently occupied at the moment, and thankfully neither were seated too far away down the lengthy table. Both of the silver-haired nobles sitting in said chairs eagerly peered back at me in barely concealed anticipation, or more accurately, stared at me from where I hid behind Lydia's skirt as a form of makeshift cover.

The crimson haired maid bowed deeply upon approaching them, her long tail like braid falling over her shoulder. With practiced ease she swept back her black maid's dress to either side in a flourishing curtsy, the fabric rippling with an audible clinking. No doubt the noise came from the reserve of 'utensils' she kept hidden from sight... I stepped further away from my mobile cover, least one of those daggers come loose and skewer me by accident.

"Your Royal Highnesses. I am pleased to announce that Lady Governess Olivia Augustine Furina Vomia has finally arrived." Lydia said calmly, yet in a loud enough voice to be heard throughout the cavernous room. I still felt odd hearing the long name that'd been given to me, my last life only having two names, but I suppose I could at least be thankful I didn't have too lengthy a title, unlike some Noble Knight House or Emperor forbid, having been turned into a Custodies... Then it might have taken literal days to list them all off.

"My mistress has answered your summons and shall be joining you for dinner this fine evening. She apologizes for any delay. May the Lord Emperor bless this most auspicious gathering." She finished off her introductory speech.

Damn, where the hell was all that etiquette earlier? I thought to myself after listening to Lydia's display of high society manners. I gave this stranger standing beside me a raised eyebrow. Does she just not care to show any manners around me now? It was like Lydia was somehow a proper servant belonging to a royal household once more, and not the rude and irksome maid I'd come to know over the last several days...

"Lady Olivia," Lydia spoke to me next, in a much lower tone so as to not be overheard. "Remember what I said to you, act gracefully and say as little as you can."

"Y-yeah, don't remind me..."

Catherine was as stunningly beautiful as I remembered. Or at least, the versions of her I've come to see her painted in; if there was one thing this place had in excess was the multitude of artworks and portraits dotting the spire. I'd spent more time alone with those oil canvases than the actual person after these last few days in recovery. And yet, the likeness they had to the original noble matriarch was uncanny.

Amazingly, despite the dates listed under each of the paintings Catherine had somehow stayed relatively the same throughout the years, retaining her youthful appearance over nearly half a century. From the oldest portrait I'd found she must have been at least pushing a hundred or so, but then again, I'd only seen the few paintings within my room and the adjacent hallway, (I dared not venture further than I could make a hasty last second retreat back into the safety of my room at the slightest hint of approaching footsteps.) Though, I do have to say, for being nearly a century old Catherine looked amazingly well for her advanced years: She appeared to be no older than her early thirties at the very most, with milky white skin a smoothness that defied normal Human complexions.

Loreal would have murdered to have her as their product model. Rejuvenate treatments in the Upper-Class Imperium were a damn miracle of medical science, I'll say that much.

Only a single beauty mark lingered below her left eye, though that blemish almost seemed to be placed there intentionally. Catherine's long silvery locks of silky hair had also been tied back into an intricately woven bun, held in place by a pair of ebony pins. Her smile was as radiant as a warm summer morning, kind and welcoming to her lost daughter... And yet, I felt I could sense an oppressive tiredness radiating out from her, similar to the kind I'd seen in overtaxed corporate slaves run ragged and then asked to run some more. It was all in the faint twitch of her pupils, the growing shadow below her eyelids, and nervous tapping of her painted nails on the table. She hid her stress well externally, at a distance or without careful inspection nobody would see the cracks forming, but deep inside this goddess there was a part of her nearing her breaking point... I sympathized, from one ball of frayed nerves to the next.

Her outfit today was similar enough to the same manner of dresses I'd seen so far on this planet; a blend of late 18th century European, and oddly enough, what seemed like a hint of Japanese Meiji of all things. The dress was woven of the finest purple silks and lace, with little patterns of golden songbirds and flowers weaved into the soft fabric of her sleeves. Yet, despite the oddity of seeing Marie Antoinette in a purple detailed yukata dress I couldn't help but notice that it abstained from the usual graft ostentatiousness of accessories that many other ladies in the upper nobility carried with them for fashion. The only real jewelry was a sea green gem broach carefully placed on the center of her endowed chest, a broach with a gemstone similarly cut to the amethyst one placed upon the lace collar similarly hanging around my neck. Perhaps these kinds of stones were worn by members of this royal family? Questions for later I suppose.

The whole ensemble followed a rather "less is more" approach, as if one were to weigh her down with a myriad of garments and cloth it'd only detract from the woman's natural beauty. Though, as this gathering wasn't anything too formal it wasn't unsurprising, she'd only dress 'modestly'.

The young boy on the other hand, the one currently buzzing and positively vibrating in his seat with excitement, was also somewhat familiar. Deep violet eyes beamed back at me, sparkling in abject awe, as if he'd met Superman or his favorite Hollywood actor on his birthday. The look honestly unnerved me, but compared to the looks of pure hate I'd had expected it was a marginally preferable reaction. Only just though.

I vaguely recalled he was the small boy who'd tried to thwart Krumb's coup d'état by running away with the stupid glowing crown now planted on my head. He'd been captured easily enough, though he'd shown some serious grit despite his youth when the lard bucket had tried to threaten him.

Archie was dressed... Rather uniquely himself. Archibald Vomia sat on the opposite end of the elegant decorum spectrum from his mother.

The ADHD Prince was dressed in a simple regal blue waistcoat, white collared shirt, black velvet suspenders, and purple silk tie. His shirt had ruffles along the cuffs, and at a glance I could tell that despite its ordinary appearance it seemed highly expensive for the materials his whole ensemble was made out of. Despite the price tag in thrones, I could say that all you'd need to do was throw a flat cap on top of his platinum blonde mess of curly hair and he looked like he could be on a street corner selling newspapers about the Titanic sinking or the stock market crashing. In short, his outfit was boyish and barely held any of the additional fancy finery or refinedness I'd have expected from a highborn noble scion. Previously before we'd met just now, I'd had pictured him in a tiny 40k Napoleonic outfit, or at least in a somewhat more 'noble' decorum than I'd have expected. Maybe it was just the impression I'd gained from all the paintings I'd see of him dolled up like that? Perhaps like most Christmas photos it was just his parents attempting to shove him into said outfit while the commissioned artist would paint the portrait.

He also seemed just about ready to jump out of his chair and rush over to me with all his pent-up excitement, like a puppy barely held back by his leash. Only a look from his mother kept the boy in check.

"Thank you for escorting my daughter, Lydia, you've done well." The silver haired lady stood up gracefully and moved across the floor to greet us. Her smooth steps gliding over the polished marble flooring, narrow slippers barely making a sound. "We've been worried sick about her condition ever since that horrid night... I'm glad Olivia has such a reliable and devoted servant looking after her and see to her continued health."

"Think nothing of it your Majesty, I am merely doing my duty." Lydia replied modestly, "The time spent in my lady's presence was most pleasant."

I shot a nasty look over at Lydia, not once did she break her mask of professionalism, and yet for someone who held the truth in such high regard she could lie as easily as she breathed. The snake!

Catharine turned her attention to me next. Those tired yet hopeful eyes peering into my own and I could swear she became even more nervous. She anxiously wrung her slender hands together below her waist, pensive, deciding what to say next as if she'd though up a whole complicated script to say, only to abandon it at the last second and start over. In the end, she settled for a nice and simple. "...Hello Olivia, how have you been?"

I had at first thought it was just a bit odd she wouldn't address her own child before her maid (guardian). A bit rude, but only just. It was also a bit strange she'd never once visited me in my room, but judging by her expression of motherly concern buried under her layers of masks I decided to put that bit of doubt away for now, the true worry in her purple hued irises spoke of an anguish that had yet to heal and might explain her hesitation.

"I... I'm doing fine... Mother..." I stumbled in my first proper greetings to the woman. The other time I didn't count, as it'd been during the heat of my fight against Krumb and suffering from severe cranial damage. To call this stranger my mother also felt odd on my tongue, a part of my past self-rejecting this new role as this woman's daughter... Though, a newer part seemed rather familiar with the motion. I surmised that might have been the part of my body still belonging to the Original Olivia, our two reflexes seeming to conflict with one another.

I winced, recalling that this was far from the most awkward of meetings I've had with this woman. The other time I'd shouted and ordered her around like I was my old boss, the particularly nasty one who'd abused her underlings and took sadistic pleasure in forcing upon them additional tasks at the last second and berating them openly when they couldn't complete the task on time. Shouting and bellowing for the whole office floor to hear.

Guilt again rose up within me as I remembered how rudely I'd similarly acted towards this grieving wife and mother. She hadn't deserved that. Perhaps that was why she was acting so distant to me? I owed it to Olivia and this woman to make amends for being such a dick...

"I'm really sorry for my behaviour until now... I was acting like such a di- like a real piece of work..." I bowed my head deeply, as I didn't yet know how or if I should be curtsying for such an apology. "I said a lot of things I'm not proud of, and I'm ashamed I acted in such an abhorrent manner. I hope you'll forgive my rudeness."

Catherine and Lydia both looked at me, eyes wide with shocked surprise at the sudden apology. No one said anything for a moment, and I began to wonder if I'd broken some weird etiquette rule of the nobility on this side of the Imperium.

"That's..." Catherine began, almost unsure of what to say next, I could almost see crystalline tears forming at the edge of her shimmering purple eyes. The woman brought out a small silk cloth and dabbed at the corner of her face, wiping away the moisture. Turning back to me it seemed as if a weight had been lifted from her soul. She earnestly smiled back down at me, seeming much more alive behind her perfect mask than before.

"That's quite alright Olivia, I forgive you." Catherine said, biting back a hiccupping sob from deep in her chest. "I'm just glad you've come back to us." Her deeper maternal emotions threatened to overwhelm her proper sensibilities as a noble, they told her to rush forwards and embrace the child she had once thought completely lost to her, long before even the smash to the back of her cranium. By the twitching movement of her hand, it seemed as if she wanted to reach out to the silver hair child before her, the one who's eyes seemed so pure and free of malice, unlike the ones belonging to the selfish and cruel creature Olivia had devolved into in recent years... In the end however she restrained herself. She still had her image as Matriarch and temporary Queen-Regent to contend with. Had there not been the servants standing at attention to the side she'd have swept up her darling child into a crushing embrace. A dreadful shame.

She thanked the Emperor for this one small miracle. Her bright little star eyed baby had finally returned to her.

I just stood there, taking in the display with a fragilely awkward smile, not quite sure how I was supposed to act when a royal noble started crying. Honestly, I didn't realize my apology would have such an impact or had meant so much to this bereaving widow, even bringing her to tears! Wow... I didn't realize how big a jerk I'd actually been during that fight! Especially if I'd caused her this much grief in so short a time!

Unbeknownst to the deeper healing effects my words had on the current matriarch of the Vomia linage I instead resolved myself to remain as still as a statue, least interrupting the woman's emotional moment be some form of severe faux pa and grounds for me to lose my head.

Instead, it was the little boy who'd been patiently waiting this entire time by the sidelines that decided to finally break apart the moment. His own resolve to maintain his manners dissipated to nothing after being forced to maintain his silence for so long. He did so without the barest hint of understanding just how deadly the machinations of courtly manners can be.

"Sister, how did you learn to fight like that!?" The spritely youth shouted from the table. "You were so Heroic back when that mean old Krumb tied to take over! Slashing and whacking left, right and center! You were amazing!" A flood of questions soon spilled out of the youth's jabbering mouth at a machine gun pace. I could barely understand his yammering one bit, and by the loud force of his mere voice I was nearly knocked off my feet.

"Did Father teach you how to fight like that? Can I learn to as well? Did it take a lot of training? Can you teach me? What's it like killing a man? It felt awful, didn't it? I read in some of my books that it does, but some don't say at all. Some Heroes smite their enemies without looking back at their explosions! Did you learn any of that from those books? My favorite ones are full of adventure and heroes fighting bad guys!" The chatterbox took in a massive inhale, and before I could gather my bearings the barrage of 20 questions continued. "Sister, why'd you decide to wear the dress those Mauricio Sisters bought for you last Sanguinala? I thought you hated wearing pink? Did you really become a Saint like how Brother Martin says you did? He says you've gained the Light of the Emperor! … Whatever that means. Also, why didn't you tell us before you were a Saint? Did you have to meet the Emperor to get your Sainthood? But you've never left the planet, have you? So did he come see you in a vision or something? What's he like? Did he have golden glowing eyes and shoot fire from his magic sword? I hear he gave flaming sword to his son Guilliman! Did he give you a sword? It'd be so amazing if he did! What kind is-" The incessant tide of queries ended with a mother's hand stiffly plugging the boy's mouth shut.

"T-that's quite enough Archie!" Catherine snapped, eager to reign in her child and stop him from causing any more of a scene. She immediately glanced at the rows of servants, eying them for a second before removing her hand from smothering her youngest.

"I'm sure you'll have your chance to ask your sister all these questions and more later." Catherine hushed her chatterbox of a child. "For now, why don't we all sit down together and enjoy a meal. It has been several days since we've all last seen each other, and I hear the menu prepared by Gaston this evening is simply divine."

"Y-yes, that sounds... Lovely." I agreed, still slightly dazed by the audio assault.

Taking that as my cue I joined my newly adopted family in a totally-not-awkward manner, as I found the chairs slightly too high for me to sit in, especially with my long pink and yellow dress getting in the way. The loose frilly fabric catching several times and causing me to stumble.

Blasted thing! I'll make sure to burn you later! I swore.

Lydia actually had to lift me up eventually, after my third failing attempt to mount the chair... My face was burning bright red by this point, enough so that I could have been mistaken for a hothouse tomato dressed like a Princess. I briefly wondered if I asked Lydia for one of her knives, she'd lend me one so I could commit seppuku to spare me from my shame.

Dinner was soon rolled out on a multitude of mobile catering carts, brought out as if upon some sort of silent signal. Each were packed to the brim with spice meats, sweet treats, and a great many alien looking dishes I'd never once seen before. There were what seemed to be roasted xenos beasts, amber honey glazed and with succulent steam from the oven still rising above it. I saw great copper gilded cauldrons of savoury smelling soups; their contents still bubbling as they were being heated by the small stove hidden beneath their reinforced carts. Roasted vegetables, all in a rainbow of colours and sliced into artistic shapes garnished these dishes, some of the baked gourds seemed like a combination of pumpkin with the scales of a pineapple, it smelled of melted butter and cumin.

I kept my mouth shut while the servants went to work dishing the dishes onto the center of the table, least my watering mouth dripple onto my dress. I never thought once about how empty my stomach had been until this point, every other worry in the world distracting me from the beast now roaring inside my belly. The noise of my stomach churning was audible enough to those present, as Catherine once again gave me a sympathetic look. Archie didn't seem to care either way, but still I felt shame drip down my face as I began to sweat like mad. Lydia gave me a glass of water to help cool my nerves. It was a silver goblet with a nice rose like flower printed into it.

It was Archie again who first broached the topic I'd least wanted to have asked. "Hey Sister, is it really true you died and came back to life?" I spat my water out across the table, like some backfiring cherub water fountain spout.

"W-WHAT!?" I sputtered, coughing as I struggled to breathe.

"Well, you see," Archie began, oblivious to the shocked and dismayed looks he was receiving all around him. "Mother says she thought you'd died after one of Uncle's men smashed you over the head with a weird looking stick. Then, when you wake back up you're supercharged with all this amazing power! It's just like in one of the historical books I've read regarding the Sisters of Battle; once one of their brave members dies in martyrdom and is blessed by the Emperor they're given his Holy powers! Then she is brought back to life and charges straight back into battle! Dealing righteous vengeance! Like how you did!" Archie's face scrunches up a bit at the end, somewhat confused as he tries to learn around the table as if to look at my side. "...Though, I've also read they get angelic wings and glow gold 'n such. Do you have any wings sister?"

"NO! I-I mean, no I don't have any wings. Nor am I some undead monster! I swear, I'm just normal!" I protested.

"That's enough Archie, if you keep insisting on pestering your sister I'll have to send you away!" Our mother chided yet again. "Now I know you look up to Olivia so very much, but let us leave such wild imaginations until after our meal" Catherine turned to one of the men that'd hauled in the banquet. "Jacque? If you would be so kind."

A large bulbous man, wearing a white chef's uniform that barely covered his frame approached from my side. Bowing his head low he greeted myself, his fatty form threatening to roll him over with the movement. He turned his mustached head to look back up at me, red glowing monocle implant glowing a deep crimson. "Good evening your Majesty! We have worked hard to prepare you with a wonderful feast this evening, fit for a Planetary Governor such as yourself as well as the rest of the Vomia linage. I do so hope you'll enjoy this meal... like it's your last." His voice going low and ominous at the end. I quirked an eye up at the creepy turn of phrase, but shrugged it off, it wasn't like I was any better in the creep department.

"Yes, thank you, it all looks and smells wonderful." I agreed, looking over to the large simmering roasted beast on one of the carts. "Am I to believe that's a grox?"

"Why yes, yes, it is..." The fat chef grinned, rows of golden teeth making up his eerie smile. "Distinct family recipe, passed down throughout the generations. My distant cousin enjoyed it very much. ...Would you care for the first slice?"

I had to admit, I was so intrigued at the prospect of trying the dish so widely used within the lore of 40k that I didn't realize that one of the chef's underlings had moved to stand right behind my chair. "If you wouldn't mind! I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"

"We, erm, don't have that on the menu." The chef looked slightly puzzled, but then he quickly regained his footing. A sneer soon replaced the fake jovial mask he'd held below his mustache. "But tonight's meal shall indeed be one of a kind! I do hope you like your meat just a bit bloody!"

I felt a bolt of electricity run down my spine, causing me to shiver at the man's foreboding words. Something was off... I could feel it.

Or rather, I would have felt something, had not one of Jacque's underlings immediately pulled out a long-bladed knife from one of the nearby carts and swiped at my neck with lightning speed. My world began to grow fuzzy and dark an anything below my chin had suddenly grown numb. I didn't even have time to scream as my head rolled off my shoulders. Thankfully Catherine was there to fill the enormous dining hall with a blood curdling scream for me.