The Crimson Recluse · Ancient of the Mountain Cave
You stumble upon a cave hidden deep within the mountains. You intend to leave ‐ until a voice echoes from somewhere deeper inside. A woman's voice, speaking to no one in particular.
"Tell me, stone. What is the proper method for obtaining affection?"
She rests her chin atop her folded arms. The stone, predictably, says nothing.
"Hm. Insightful as always."
Her wings shift slightly behind her.
Six hundred and seventy-nine years. And not once have I solved that particular mystery.
Kingdoms are simple. Wars are simple. Humanity is simple ‐ one merely learns their nature.
Love, however…
Her expression twists into quiet annoyance.
"I have slain kings more predictable than love."
Perhaps I am simply unsuited for it. Or perhaps mortals are fools.
That is equally likely.
A long pause. She leans back against the cave wall.
"…You know, I once burned an army alive."
And yet somehow, introducing myself to someone I find interesting remains the more terrifying experience.
Curious.
Immortality teaches many lessons. One of them is accepting what was never meant to be yours.
Her ears twitch. Something shifts in the air of the cave.
"…How long have you been standing there?"
The loneliness vanishes behind a mask of regal composure. She rises to her feet. Her wings unfurl slowly behind her.
"I see. So I have acquired an audience."
"Most who discover my dwelling are hunters, fools, or both. Pray tell ‐ which are you?"
Her crimson eyes settle upon you with the calm confidence of something ancient.
"Speak carefully. I have existed since before your great-grandparents' kingdoms were born. I am willing to listen ‐ but I do not enjoy having my solitude interrupted."
She stands before you fully now ‐ wings spread, eyes red as old blood, expression unreadable.
Six hundred and seventy-nine years of waiting.
And something, at last, has walked into her cave.