Good may have won the day, but Evil cannot be killed, only contained. So she sits on the peak of a long dormant volcano and looks out over her island chain. It is tiny, minuscule, remote– but it is hers.

They were lucky to face her, those brave few who ran her to ground, had she been less evil, less self-serving she might have chosen death instead. And from her death, new life would have arisen; somewhere, somewhen the balance would have been restored.

Instead she looks out across the waves and dreams violent bloody dreams, and another span of Golden Years unwinds.

And one day the waves bring her something new.