Heir Of Ashes

Cinnamon and sandalwood. Scents that invoke a sense of warm, and though her eyes burned, nothing was soothing about her. She incinerated.

When coming face to face with the Hollow Queen, all five senses are assailed. You cannot be near her without them being bombarded by the strength that she gave. She was something to fear, but in the same moment one could only pity her. She had no kingdom- not since it was conquered. Her people were nothing but ashes now, and yet somehow...she held herself like she still had a kingdom. Still had purpose. Perhaps she did?

The first sense to be assaulted is your sense of smell. Cinnamon and sandalwood. Scents that invoke a sense of warm. It wafts up your nose until it sinks in and even after she's left the room, you can still catch whiffs of her here and there. Bold scents. Ones that brought to mind with it heat- fire. A soothing burn.

But then, when your second sense drinks her in. Your sight. A soothing burn is the last thing you think of. It's incineration. Her eyes are glowing embers waiting for that faint gust of wind to bring them to life- to bring about a wildfire capable of devouring acres of land. Her eyes show the rage her other mannerisms do not. The window to her soul, or where one would lie she had one, now only filled with that vengeful fury for her kingdom. If you can yourself from her gaze long enough, her next striking feature is the thick, vicious scar marring half her face from temple to chin.

She'll address you if you come face to face with her, no doubt. Her voice is gravel and acid rain dripping down from some dark pit. Nothing about it is beautiful, but I don't believe the Hollow Queen really cares much for trying to seem that way. She has a voice of someone who inhaled too much smoke, for much too long. A voice deep and raspy, that had hitches that prevented it from even carrying on with a musical lilt. It was heavy foot falls on your ear drum- an army marching on.

Open your mouth then, to respond, and the air that surrounds her floods in. It'll dance on your tongue and bring with it a burning bite, something that nips at the tip of your tongue. Power. Magic. Something not of any world. It drenches the air that surrounds the Queen, licking at her heels as she carries on. The bite can only be compared to that of a pepper's heat. A stronger, more persistent sort that once is on your tongue- lingers. Just as her scent lingers in the room.

Usually, and hopefully, the only touch you graze is the rough fabric of her worn coat that brushes by you when she passes. If the Fates smile down, she will only pass you. The only other touch you can ever receive from the Queen is one of death. If you're unlucky, you can feel the painless slick the blade has along the skin of your neck as she slits your throat. The cold iron will usher you into the Other World. If your soul stays around long enough, you may feel calloused fingertips grazing cooling flesh looting your corpse for coin.


Needless to say, the Hollow Queen, the o'great Heir of Ashes, is a being to behold. Whether she can be called a Shifter, is another thing entirely. Her people were, her own parents had been- but many would argue their daughter wasn't.

Many would say Malalai was a monster of its own right.

Author's Note

I'm working on an actual full length novel and like to write about the characters individually on the side. Kind of expand on their essence- that sort of thing. I like playing around with word play, and so here this is. Malalai is one of my most favored characters I ever devised.