And the last image to come sat upon the throne; a handsome boy of eight or nine, with golden girls and chubby cheeks, swinging his legs in the chair that was too large for him.  "Amon," Aurora said, with a smile.  "Little brother still needs me to tuck him in sometimes at night.  We aren't. . .nothing bad is going to happen to him, grandsire?"<br/><br/>Feeling her skin shiver at the old lich's touch, she drew close to him, turning to press her back against his chest, resting her head beneath her chin and letting her hands guide his to embrace her.  "Umbrexia is a foul, bitter woman.  She tried to make herself my mother, but despise the woman," she said with such venom in her voice that the image of the Baroness flickered and split, as if a torn painting.<br/><br/>"Uncle Philip?  He sends me name-day gifts, invites me for a week's visit to his home in the spring, but we're not especially close.  He's. . .kind enough, for a boy-fancier, I suppose."