Sunlight bathed the occupants of the room in a warm buttery glow. The glass was designed specifically to make it appear as if sunbeams were drawn to each of the people sitting around the table giving anyone looking at them the impression of an ethereal glow. The impact was lost on those around the table but to anyone else in the room, the scene denoted an almost tangible presence of power and spirituality. One seat however seemed to almost radiate from the sunlight. This seat was held by the Rectoress: The one woman that held dominion over every life in the Galactic Union.

She wore a gown of white that while appeared to be simple had taken hours to tailor. The bodice clung tightly to her torso attached to what looked like a floor-length pencil skirt. The material was fitted so perfectly it appeared as if it were a second skin yet when she walked the fabric of her dress became more voluminous giving the impression the Rectoress floated instead of walked. The pure white fabric also held filaments of opalescent thread which reflected the light making the Rectoress appear to elicit a shimmering aura with every step or flick of her hand. The only jewelry she wore was an ornate necklace of gold in the filigree style of their language with the words faith, hope, and love stacked on top of each other to make it appear like an upside-down triangle.

A perfectly manicured nail, painted in an opalescent white, tapped the arm of the golden throne on which she sat. The woman was icily beautiful with jet black hair, piercing jade eyes, and a creamy flawless complexion. The face and body appeared ageless except for the small lines beginning to meander from the corners of her eyes. The weight and strain of her position in the Galactic Union caused the Rectoress’ lips to pull into a perpetual straight position where they were neither smiling nor frowning. Today, however, the red lips dipped at the corners matching the simmering fire raging in her eyes.

“And why am I just finding out about this now?” Her voice cut through the room like an icy breeze. No one dared speak or offer a reason. Senators and protectorates alike looked everywhere but at the woman on the throne staring back at all of them. On some level, she found it amusing. The pompous peacocks were always strutting about with their shrill voices and colorful rhetoric when blame was to be placed on someone else. When the fault was theirs, the men and women in the room cowered like small children in a thunderstorm.

Rectoress of the Galactic Union