A throne of ivory–is not particularly comfortable. Not for the clone of the queen, at least, and the colossal size of the thing made her feel strange about even sitting there. In her own world, she was an inventor, and that's all that she was. Stricken by the curse of mortality, she designed herself a body–half flesh and half metal to keep herself from fading with the passage of time.
Two hundred and fifty years had passed since then, and just until a few years ago, she was helping the hero lead the charge against the demon lord and his army of the corrupted. She provided him with soldiers of iron and every resource necessary and willingly gifted by the monarchy.
'And now it's gone. Only dust remains of my homeland.' Lost in memories, the clone fussed over her past. Elenaris was far from the ideal place to live, but from what she'd seen through the window in her room, it was a thousandfold better than what had remained of the best of lands in her own world.
