Gressila grumbled at her brother, but tried to keep her anger to herself. He was just being pissy, as usual. But his pissiness could easily last decades, if not generations, and her goals were a little more... Short term.

The tall pale immortal woman apologized to her human group, as she led them back outside from the castle. "He's like this. I will work on him, I promise."

The old bearded family chief looked up at her, his weakened eyes squinting. "He will doom us all," he said, voice like iron over stone. Gressila closed her eyes, nodding.

"I know. I will try, that is all I can promise."

She heard how they grumbled at her, while they left. The group of them had such high hopes - after all she was the emperor's sister! Did that not make her the empress? Or what?

Well, she knew it was 'or what'. Her distaste at even having to be around her brother was growing. Why she didn't just up and leave the world entirely, she wasn't sure.

A pair of children ran past her, one squealing in terror and the other in delight, frog in hand and pigtail covered in mud...

And Gressila's heart melted again. Maybe Lifera didn't understand how hard it was to be among mortals, to ache for the life they had that the immortal body could never. It was true that she would have done things in the blink of an eye that no mortal could achieve in a hundred years. Surviving an arrow through the heart. Living with water in her lungs. Crawling into the desert to out run bandits and remaining there without food or water for a month.

Yet Gressila could never hold her own child in her hands, could never feel the kick of an unborn babe within her. She could - but the fear of her own true mortality caught up with her.

Why did she 'soil' herself with them? Because she knew full well that only another immortal would sire a child with her. And it thankfully wouldn't be him - they knew that much already. But only an immortal, no human or elfin or ... whatever they found themselves among, could be the father of an immortal child.

Lifera occasionally wanted to go seeking out other immortals. They had met some, even some of other races than their own. She'd made complicated notes about who was from what sector of the galaxy, what kind of features they shared and which they did not - and noticed that among humanoid races, there were usually at least a couple true immortals born.

But Lifera's curiosity died the moment he learned of their true mortality. Now he just wanted to live above life, not with it. Not foster it, care for it... Simply use it to his own needs.

And Gressila hated him. They were not rivals - they didn't share enough commonality in desire any longer. He stayed up there in his broken castle above a dirty hold, being supplied by starving and sad and illiterate subjects. He thought it was great. As long as he had what he wanted, everything was well with his world.

So as long as he was happy, Gressila determined centuries before, she and her mortal companions could not be.

Now, of course she met with some anger and resistance from people. She was one of 'them', the immortal kind, the ruling class, or whatever the distaste-du-jour was among the people. The mere fact that she looked slightly elfin, with her pointed ears and pale skin, white silver hair and blazing red eyes, was enough for some humans to decide she was evil incarnate.

Others saw those features and viewed a goddess. And in truth, she wanted to be neither.

Gressila was not always a nice person of course. She was fierce, indeed. But she was patient enough to deal with mortal issues, as well as immortal ones.

She looked up at the castle, then found her horse and mounted up. She'd have to do something about her brother, but she hadn't yet decided quite what.