She who lives in Zephyr sighed softly, then grinned down at the cowering zebra in front of her.

"Oh hello, Deary." She said with a voice that was the sound of death. "Would you mind telling me your name?" To say that the one known as Zephyr was... attractive, was a bit of an understatement. She was luscious, a curvy thing that was draped in a cloak. Her beak was ivory, like a mockery of plague masks.

To tell the truth, she was beautiful in the human way of things, like she had long ago made a choice in her appearance, and despite it all, had chosen to stick with it. She looked down her beak at the cowering zebra in front of her.

"U-um...U-um..." The zebra shivered, having spent a long time in a cold dark place where things were whispered.

"Well?" She hissed, reclining in a throne made out of skulls. This was totally not just a fear thing, she had personally collected the skulls of those she had deemed worthy and polished them until they gleamed in the dark. It was a hobby of hers, actually. Collecting skulls, polishing them.

She sighed, staring down her beak at the poor frightened zebra.

"I don't remember." He finally said, collapsing off of his legs.

To be fair, the poor creature probably hadn't walked in some time. She had had a back log of zebras who were without names.

"Are you from that blasted hell hole, Rej?"

The zebra nodded it's striped body innocently, looking and moving like a hurt puppy.

She sighed. "Dammit." She snapped her talons. "Well... What name were you known by?" She had found a Floyd, a Mark, and a Ken. She really needed a break, she wasn't used to her chosen race dying quite so horribly.

"Skinner, Ma'am." He swallowed hard. "Um... Does this mean that I'm really dead?"

Her eyes widened and a smirk played at her beak. "Oh, an observant one?" Truly, the only reason why she had the smirk was because so many had died so suddenly that they hadn't had time to adjust.

That, and they were eaten by a soul munching abomination. She had to give the ones who would even speak to her credit for that.

"Yes Ma'am. I skinned things when I was alive." He kept with the hurt puppy look, probably trying to score pity points with her.

It worked, if only because he wasn't a gibbering wreck.

"And who killed you?"

Skinner focused, his eyes narrowing. "I... I uh... don't..."

Then he paused, standing up. "That mother fucking bastard fucker." He roared, making Zephyr jerk back in surprise. "Of all the fuckers I put my trust in, HE'S THE ONE WHO KILLS ME OFF?!"

Zephyr slowly blinks her red eyes. "How... Interesting. May I ask who killed you?" It wasn't the soul eating shoggoth. Thank god. Which only means that... someone was twisted enough to be considered an utter disaster.

"Ivan. Ivan the zebra."

Her eyes narrowed and she lazily sprawled herself across her throne in a way that would be considered indecent for anyone but the mistress of plagues.

That's who she was.

She cocked her head to the side and looked at the poor dead soul in front of her. "That should be under Malice's domain..." She mutters, grumbling. Just because shoggoth's were outer planar creatures didn't mean that they should count as plagues. Rationally, she understood that they were some sort of plague from beyond the stars, but the very attempt to get information out of all the idiotic souls the shoggoth had slurped up was making a migraine grace her godly head. "Unless..."

Skinner shifted his weight from leg to leg evenly. "Unless?" He asked, totally confused.

"Ivan is Malice's... piece." She grumbled,

"Piece." Skinner repeated.

"Ugh." She coughed, shaking her head. Then she pointed behind him. "There. Go on to your after life, or whatever. Or be a ghost and haunt things. I hate Rej. Big pile of jerk faces." She sighed.

Rej was... different. It was a nexus for a few ley lines, and as such was an island of importance. But only so much importance. The most importance, the important importance, was derived from the fact that it was a lock.

A lock with a key that Malice had a hold of.

"Dammit." She swore again. She was actually going to have to do something for once.

"What a complete and utter drag..."

The world would know the touch of the mistress of plagues again.

Author's Notes:

A BROKEN PEACE CHAPTER 59! THE PLOT THICKENING