Halea steps upward onto the stair.

Halea: If I may dare offer advice to a new king,

She begins to sit on the lid of Shoshana's sarcophagus.

Halea: Let me share how I've remained sane all these centuries:

She reaches up to her hood, smiling.

Halea: Delayed gratification. Waiting ages for a particular end can be lonely and frustrating. I've survived only by imagining my smile when I finally reach it, and imagining the faces of my foes when I finally win.

Silas quietly stands nearby, clutching her cloak, as Halea tosses back her hood with a flourish. Her hair underneath flips upward, like the crest of a bird.

Halea: Surely you can manage ONE more week of gardening in exchange for a sweeter victory? Envision your amplified joy when Daphne Philemon tries SO hard, yet is asked to step aside for YOU. You will be glad you got to play with your food a while longer.