Mortals are quite foolish. They believe themselves the architects of their own fates. Their hubris knows no bounds. I’ve lived for over a thousand years—a benefit of being a lich queen—and even my arrogance has a limit. I’ve seen a great deal, learned every dark secret worth keeping, killed so, so many. And yet, I’ve never been quite as deluded as the vast majority of the filth that roams the realms.
In truth, mortals have very little control, if they have any at all. They cling to false hopes, unrealistic objectives, and ideals larger than themselves, all because they believe it makes them better. They think it will all make them stronger. How very big of them, yet so ultimately dumb and dim-witted.
I, on the other hand, don’t have to pretend to be better. I simply am. The mortals in my thrall understand this. I sell them their dreams—anything they could ever want—at the cost of a living nightmare. Or, perhaps that would be unliving. It’s really all the same when it comes down to it.
My newest subject wanted to be a king. He thought to steal from me, to usurp me. Such a misguided fool. Before I cut his throat, I told him exactly what he wanted to hear. He will be a great ruler. A leader of superb renown, serving at the head of my armies. He’ll have everything he’s ever wanted. Just so long as he remembers who holds the leash.