priestess

Standing there twirling her red curls with the tips of her fingers, the priestess of the Scifion Conscience peers over her shoulder, spying the tattered fabric on the chair with squint of disgust. She turned back toward the general, who snapped to attention and stared straight forward, knowing it would be fatal to do otherwise. A moment passes. Through gritted teeth, in a soft tone the priestess hisses, “Destroy them all”. The general thumps his chest and bows, turns on a heel and strides out of the chamber. Continuing to twirl her lovely red locks, a sinister smirk begins to grow on her lips.