The painter motioned to the matriarch."I have what I need my lady, you need stand there no longer."

The matriarch glanced to her left and to her right. She saw the masked faces of her servants, her spies, her government puppets, and her tongue played over her elongated canines.

"I tire of this," She said.

"My lady," one of her servants piped up, "the artist..."

"Not that," she interrupted. "This," she gestured with her palm down and fingers spread wide. "I can smell the slow rot exuding from each one of your bodies, it's why I choose not to breathe around you."

The matriarch walked across the room to the wide windows, blacked out with layers of curtains and glass panes painted with pitch. Her servants moved to leave their places and she raised a hand to stop them.

"The artist dismissed me only, you will stay there until he is finished." The eyes of her followers glazed as the light of their wills were supplanted by hers.

"I have raised empires, and I have destroyed them. I have tasted blood and taken lovers from every country. I have tasted every pleasure and felt every torture and I have grown tired."

The matriarch pulled down the curtains and threw a heavy oak chair through the window. The sunlight conjured flame from within her body and she was engulfed. Her people watched, but could not move. The artist worked diligently to finish the portrait.

Edit: spelling