Above it all was beautiful, ageless Acelia, glancing sidelong at her court as she sat askance on her throne of gems. It was often said that she had an iron in every fire and a scheme for every enemy, even the ones that she currently regarded as friends. Her true age was a hotly debated topic in the Chateau - she had been the queen for as long as anyone could remember but retained the body of a fragile, waif-thin youth. Her peculiar violet hair cascaded down her back like the waters of her castle's namesake. Only her fierce eyes betrayed her true age. Looking into those faded grays might give one a heavy feeling in the stomach, the uncomfortable weight of the long passage of eons.