In life, the monarch of a kingdom, the throne assumed by wit and force. Her death, or what they, including herself, thought of as death, was the last vestige of their external war. Their enslavement broken, she passed into history and fable, the first of her line. Her kingdom has been dust for many years, wiped from the realm by machinations unseen or heard of by her. She had accepted her small existence in the afterlife, until one day she was pulled from it. Forced into corporeal form once more, she awakened in her long forgotten crypt after so long being gone. Staggering from her resting place, she had to learn again what it meant to be alive. Hair of silver sparkled like starlight, grown so long after her death, her body clad in the regal attire it had been buried in. It had tken a few hours before she had the courage to stand upon legs that she vaguely remembered how to use. Stalking through her crypt, passing the long dead bodies of her children, grandchildren and so on, Korali came to the exit of her tomb, the stone door long shut after so many years of unuse. Her hand lifted, a star formed in her palm, miniscule and twinkling in the rank darkness of the crypt. Sending it forth, it exploded in a blinding ball of white light. The door was gone. and in its place a perfectly circular crater, looking as if it had been layered in glass. She fell to her knees as pain slammed through her head, rendering her helpless for a few moments. Such power she had commanded in life, and now this small use was painful...so painful to even conjure. She left her tomb to explore and discover, to find out what remained of her home, and more importantly: to find out why she was alive again.