Once there was and once there was not a witch with the ability to bend and shape reality to her will. A goddess among mortals such as the tales of old- and to her people, she was the Creatrix in all her glory.
Queen Mother was her title, her true name a secret that only her husbands would know as tradition would soon dictate. She spurred her nation to grow and prosper and for a time the kingdom was safe and all was merry and well.
That came to an end one morning when the men from the south invaded in the name of their God, a god that had no name and had no goal but to wage war upon those that did not keep his faith.
The Queen’s husbands commanded the armies that had sworn to her to protect, and so they left the safety of the kingdom’s walls and a battle was waged.
It was fought for thirteen days and thirteen nights until finally, the last soldiers on both sides perished, leaving only empty husks for the carrions to feast upon.
The Queen, in all her grief, in all her rage, had the bodies of her armies burned in a united pyre in the hopes that she may make some good out of their sacrifice.
That night was when the Veil was thinnest and it was then that she cast a spell that we still feel the repercussions of today.
She tore it open and sewed it back together that night, separating her people and their allies away from all that they had known before.
That was the night that magic left this world for another.
In this new world her people flourished, their pain soon becoming distant memories.
She ruled for nineteen years alone, all except for her daughter, whom she trained to take over- teaching her the ways of sorcery and the like.
And then, on the twentieth anniversary of her husbands’ death, she entombed herself within the Chamber of All and come the next morning, her daughter was Queen Mother.
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