The Vampire Queen

    I am a Duchess. I am a vampire. I am a werewolf killer. My best allies are werecats. Confusing? Not really. I live where you do. The same world. The same people. I know the US President. I know the Russian President. I know the Chinese President. I know the Korean dictators. They won’t admit it-they’re too sexist to openly admit a woman holds more power than they do.

    I have reign over most of the world. I could have reign over your neighbor. It could be your mother. Your father. Your aunt you never knew could be one of my bodyguards. But they’re sworn to secrecy. Interrogate them all you want. You’ll never find out if I hold reign over them.

    The only people who stand against me are the werewolves and the ignorant. The werewolves are idiots. They can’t make a decent ambush to save anyone. The ignorant are just that. Ignorant. You’re no longer an ignorant. You now know I’m here. So you aren’t an ignorant anymore.

    Let’s get to the present.

    I live in the country of...well, that’s not important, now is it? You snooper. I’m not telling you where I live. You could be part of the werewolf alliance. I’m not up for fighting the werewolves or the dwarves. Both are just idiots bound to destroy themselves. The werecats and vampires are elegant. In an...well, I tend to drone, now don’t I? Let’s continue with the story.

    I am pulled out of my reverie by my servant and bodyguard, Brunhilda. Don’t think her name says anything about where my palace is. My name is Cecily. They’re not from the same culture.

    “My grace,” Brunhilda says. Yes, I’m also a queen, but that’s not important. Not right now. “The Alliance has been found on the southern border. They’re evacuating refugees to China.” Brunhilda says stiffly.

    “Well, well...” I murmur. I’m lounging on my throne. It’s in a warmly lit throne room. Oh, did you expect my palace to be cold and unforgiving? It’s unforgiving, yes, but not cold. I’m a vampire, not a damn ice troll. More on that later. “Send a regiment there by...” I pause. Air or water? “Air and water. Three of vampires and three of werecats. And could you please arrange a meeting with the Princess?” The Princess Imogen, heir to the throne of the werecats. Her mother, Illiya, is fatally ill. I believe she has lymphamatoid granulamatosis. Yes, absolutely hilarious. The werecat queen is fatally ill with a cat disease. Imagine that.

    Brunhilda nods and murmurs a “Yes, your grace,” as she exits the room. There’s only me in this room. There are four entrances. Each is unknown to all but me. All but the main entrance, that is.

    On the matter of ice trolls, they’re stupid, lumbering, numbskulls. I don’t understand how they are still in existence. We’ve had to purge the memories of thousands of ignorants in the past few years alone from sightings. Trolls are even worse. It’s hard to get rid of so-called “big-foot” images when they’re on the internet, now isn’t it?

    Moving on.

    Brunhilda re-enters. I look at my watch. 2:53 and 37 seconds AM. She has a were-cat envoy in tow. How do I know? No, the envoy isn’t covered in fur or have cat ears. That’s just stereotypical. Those are the traits of a werewolf. The envoy is wearing a envoy suit. And by that, I mean she’s wearing a suit. Short, striped skirt. Black and white outfit. Shirt has very low cleavage, and the jacket only comes down to the ribs, leaving a bare midriff.  Very busty, as is usual for werecat woman. Werecat men are strong. Strong and silent. Excellent soldiers.

    “Envoy. What is your message?” The werecat bows to me. Good. Now she gets on one knee. She must not have a good message.

    “I’m sorry for being so low, your grace, but I am tired. I have run from checkpoint two-oh-two, your grace.” She keeps her head low. Two-oh-two is in Hawaii.