The Queen of Atlantis.
The one known as the proudest being in all the Nova world. Even the lesser gods had praised her kind for their stubbornness, for their refusal to bow to any being in existence, except the True God himself.
She was the well-known embodiment of pride, the living symbol of a bloodline that had never bent, never broken, never yielded to anyone or anything.
And now she was kneeling.
The world itself seemed to stop. The wind, which had been howling through the shattered windows, fell silent, as if it too could not believe what it was witnessing. The dust that had been floating in the air settled gently to the floor, as if afraid to disturb the moment. Even the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to hold their breath.
The proudest being in the world was bowing her head like a peasant begging for mercy. Like a prisoner awaiting judgment. Like a sinner seeking absolution.
