Her Grace, the God-Queen of the entire land of Essyrn, whom the people address as their Shah, now sat within the cool, silken shadows of her opulent booth; a section singled out within the Colosseum's high rising seats. Upon her head sat the tall capped crown of her people, with the dual headed snake goddess crested in it's center. Beneath the crown she wore a thick black wig that fanned around around her body and framed just around her shoulders. The wig itself had gold and turquoise beads strung throughout, and a few extra ones that framed her face and the bangs of the wig down the front. Her eyes were ornately painted in gold and turquoise colors to match, and kohl was used to adorn her eyes, giving her already exotic features a more slanting, catty look. And with lips, now coated in a kissably pink color, made the already beautiful Persea Ah'nikh dazzle, and caused others to exclaim and gape at her god like beauty.
She sat in a throne of gold, the chair in the shape of a lion, with legs like paws and the chair back supporting her, had the framing girth of the lion's face and mane. Her body was wrapped in translucent white clothe that barely hide the intricate gold and black paintings that clothed her body beneath. And other than the thick collar layered in gold, jewels and beads around her neck, and ones that cuffed her arms, she wore little else. Even the sandals hugging her legs did nothing to mask the god like beauty that, even at a distance, one could taste.
And that's how her job was handled, she- merely a face of her people, and one so many women now strived to become like- for she was the face of youth, beauty and grace; and held the blood lines of someone blessed directly by their God. And though it was so early in her rein, it seemed, for her beauty of what she represented: a pure blood line, a grand ruler, a grand God, she was already adored by her people.
The soft winds from the fans coming down from her slaves was most welcome, but the roar of the crowd seemed to irritate her, the only notion of this coming out from the cutting jewel color of her eyes. Blood and fanfare, it was all so barbaric, and perhaps, she figured, if she were a man, could indulge and revel in such things more quickly, but being as this was tradition in a world dominated by men, she had to keep her face of indifference, and remain as a perched figure head before the crowd.
When this new fighter, some... famous man an advisor whispered to her who had gone by The Sand Storm, she merely raised a single brow in recognition before peering down to where he waited on the battle field, with the sun bleating down on him with it's merciless rays. The man's stance, she observed, was one of confidence, but his helm, as they all were, was ridiculously pomp. She'd rather see the fighter's face, and wondered if she could make a new law for it, but steeled her tongue over the matter. She didn't want to sound incompitant. But she was born into vanity, and loved looking upon faces, even those less pretty than her own, so she could remind herself how she was perfection.
Though a man's face was never lost on her. She was surrounded by all sorts. But the kind she craved for was neither here nor there. Yes, she decided inwardly as she drew in a breath and raised her chin a bit higher when the gladiator turned her way, this arena fight would be much more interesting could she see the man's face. At least if he had a handsome face to match his body, she'd have someone to root for.
