Pride was the creation of the First Kingdom - the ruling monarch of the people; the revered arrogance seated in the heart of their ruler. Centuries had passed since the Division, and Queen Hira had yet to show a sign of the age. Her citizens had come and gone: born and stretched and bent into wizened crones until they turned to dust, but not she. She stood as tall as the demon that had touched her with her greatest trait, her defining feature, her single sin, her blessed curse, pushing her to being the queen of the queens.

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  The red eyes blinked languidly from the darkened mirror.

  "One final favour." The voice grated against her bones, running knives against the knobs of her spine, but through sheer will, Hira remained unflinching.

  "One will be sufficient." Her mind's eye seeing the endless rows of headstones in the kabaristan, the First Queen said, "My sisters and I require heirs."