"No… No! She's gone! She's not coming back!" Civility is dead. Apmeken is gone, the empress is dead. Who could be coming?

Temptation. Intoxication. Sleep.
Fields of marrentill. Eternal ecstasy. Eternal uselessness, eternal slavery.

Eternity.

The Empress who has passed away will pass again, and she is supposed to embrace the thing, the accursed weed that brought her low enough to be put in this deplorable state? Isn't it enough that she is addicted to it?

She dug into her dress and produced a cigar which she lit with the tip of the index finger of her free hand.

Accursed weed.