Masques of Tyranny

Tyranny wears no single face— it dances in silk and iron, in laughter rippling through marble halls, in jeweled cups brimming with poison. Here stand five shadows cloaked in power: the Jade Empress who penned her conquests in ink of blood; the Blood Countess who bathed in youth’s final heartbeat; the Poison Queen whose roses wilted on royal lips; the Thorned Mother sculpting her son into a golden idol of death; the Icon-Breaker who crushed faith beneath her boot. They moved like vultures through court and corridor, each step a measured echo of shattered lives. Their eyes—cold maps of ambition— charted the fall of poets, princes, innocents. Their hands—delicate arbiters of suffering— wrote edicts that carved screams into walls. Remember: cruelty is not a garment stitched by men alone. It blooms wherever power dreams of itself and drinks deep from the wells of mercy’s undoing.