Sleeper

Cær Droi was a lump, as indifferent as a barrow.

The subterranean maze that would have kept secret its breach had been compromised by decay. Past the deep door he found a dingy grotto; squatting around a dreggy sump were three of her children, the remains of so many others made a carpet of fecal debris.

Such a miserable tableau primed his vindication. This is not life! With his hands he snuffed the limpid zombies, and left them in a litter like so much squalid chattel.

Down a narrow stair he violated her adytum. She and her Husband lay on the cold earth, sunken into a comatose stupor of anoesis, barely zoetic. The result of an eternal boredom.

Still, he was cautious to approach. Power does not wither, though it sleeps. At her neck he felt her blood's evanescent crawl.

Against her lips he applied one drop from his phial.