Melkor

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They had left her alone in the great hall of the King, in the semi-destroyed palace of Fornost. Roswehn opened her eyes, and did not understand how she had come there, what sort of place was that, and why she was standing in front of that gigantic black marble throne.

Regan had momentarily freed her from her influence. Basically, two souls shared the same body, and now Dale's girl had regained possession of her faculties. The last thing she remembered was the acrid smell of the cloth that had been pressed to her face.

She put her hands to her temples, desperate. "Gods help me ... I'm losing my mind!" She wept.

"There are no gods to help you here ... they do not listen to you, but I do." said a deep voice.

The girl looked around. There seemed to be no one besides her, in that huge dark room. But then she glimpsed a human figure sitting on the throne. The posture was casual, a long leg was bent to the chest, and with one hand he held up his head. The creature seemed bored, or afflicted with some sad thought. She approached with fear to distinguish the features and immediately saw that he was an Elf.

Long black hair came down to his waist, he wore an iron crown, with a blood-red jewel right in the middle. The skin was whitish, but it was a pallor similar to that of sickness, it was not the usual pearly whiteness of the Elves. A rebellious tuft fell to cover his eyes, and below, Roswehn saw a creepy grin.

He wore black trousers, he was shirtless, and wore black leather boots.

"And who would you be?" the girl asked, without being sure she wanted to hear the answer. She had a terrible feeling.

"My name is Melkor." the creature said, raising his face a little. He stared at her.

Melkor ... thought Roswehn. Melkor ... when did she hear that name? She concentrated and in a moment she found the answer. The girl put her hand to her mouth without being able to hold back a scream.

"MORGOTH!" She shouted, then she tried to escape, but an invisible wall stopped her run after a step. The woman fell ruinously backwards.

"Do you think you can run away from me?" the creature was seraphic. No, of course I can not, thought the woman, laboriously sitting down on the floor. In the fall, she had hurt one elbow. If the creature was really who he said he was, she had no hope to get out of that situation alive.

Roswehn was in the presence of Evil. The absolute Evil of Middle-earth. She hoped it was just a trick to scare her.

"No, you can believe me, you are in the presence of a God, dear. I wait for your tribute." the Dark Elf said again. He was reading her mind.

Roswehn looked at him. She was terrified.

"You lie, Melkor is the name of an Ainur, an Ainur who chose the path of terror and death... if you are him, you should use another name." the woman replied. "...Morgoth."

"This thing about names ..." the creature continued, "...is tedious, isn't it? You called yourself Regan all your life until recently, and now ... Roswehn ... this generates confusion. " Melkor said. "An unbearable confusion." he stood up and walked toward her. He was tall and slender, had a feline elegance in moving. He offered her the sharp-fingered hand to help her up, but Roswehn did not dare give him hers.

"Do not be afraid, if I wanted to kill you I would have already done it." He smiled. His facial features were not ugly: on the contrary, his face was more masculine than those of the other Elves and the eyes were big, dark and piercing. His lips opened in a more convincing smile.

"They have struggled to bring you here, it is not my intention to waste the efforts of your subjects." he told her, "... let me help you, woman."

Roswehn gave him a hand and the creature grabbed it firmly. Once standing, the Elf looked at her from head to toe.

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