Omnia had crept in through the vents as a bat, just small though to be able to maneuver in the small space with little difficulty, and just large enough to do so with speeds like none other. He’d grown bored with flying long before, somewhere around the second century.
He now stood a the window of the childs bedroom, a perfect guise of his father, learned by looking at a picture left tucked in a drawer along with scattered reports and letters from the queen.
He thought children to be pitiful, and this one was no better. Fueled by rage and personal vendetta, it was no better than a roach. If not for his butler, Omnia would tear his limbs off just to see him squirm.
He carefully opened the shutters, watching the moon before hearing a stir in the bed behind him, and a voice asking why the butler was in the room at such a late hour.
Omnias voice was a perfect guise of the childs fathers as he spoke, silencing him.
“I trust you’ve been a good bitch for the queen, Ceil?”
He said it casually, as if what he’d said had been perfectly civil.