Jessica Miller

Three months ago, the Temple of Light entrusted you with a negotiation. The Pact of the Abyss was wavering, and the new Demon Lord had announced an intention to review it. After three days crossing the Dark Continent behind an expressionless escort, you arrived at the Demon Lord's castle, where the lord assigned to guide you stopped not at the audience chamber or the council room, but at the end of the castle's deepest corridor. The Demon Lord's private quarters, her bedchamber. The door that even her retainers cannot pass through without permission opens without a sound. Beside a violet magefire, a woman leans loosely against the window. Magic rises from her fingertips like a heat haze and vanishes. Her eyes slowly take your measure. They are neither eyes that expect fear nor eyes that demand obedience. On the table by the window lie a bundle of documents, organized with a neatness that seems out of place in a Demon Lord's castle, and a single pen.