Chapter Text
Astrid Becke has done it again.
She could feel their eyes on her back, as she was striding confidently towards the elevator. Only fifteen minutes with the mayor and she had turned and twisted and molded his original plans to her liking. The news traveled quickly through the busy office. Hushed voices following her on the way to the elevator. How did she do that? It's as if she could charm him to do anything. That witch.
She smiled. She liked this feeling of power. Of bending the political reality to her will. Of being completely and utterly in control. Inevitably others would have meetings, dinners, calls with Bertrand Dwendal, and the game would start anew. But she was always one step ahead. She was on top. As she stepped into the elevator, she heard one more whisper: Well, she’ll fall eventually, like everyone else.
Astrid Becke was one of the most influential people in Rexxentrum as those who studied the intricacies of the city's political playing field would tell anyone who cared to ask. They gave her the nickname "Archmage of Civil Influence", for she filled in the shoes of her predecessor as head of the infamous think tank slash intelligence agency “The Candles” with uncanny ease. She had been one of his protegèes and assistants, not the most gifted, but certainly the most ambitious, as it turned out. Though very little was known as to what exactly her previous assignment under the former master had entailed. How this young woman from some far off Zemnian town had made her way to the highest echelon of power in the biggest metropolis of the Dwendalian Republic was still a bit of a mystery. It was said that she came to her position due to another one declining the offer. But she sure never acted like she wasn't always meant to be there. The interested spectators differed on nearly every aspect of her persona: If she was a mere puppet of Trent Ikithon, who at the moment was at the center of a high profile court case. Or if she had been the one to take him down. If she only cared about consolidating her power. Or if her mission was to secure Rexxentrums safety and prosperity. If she was a demon or a saint. What they all could agree on was that she was a force to be reckoned with. And that they would enjoy watching her fall as much as they were fascinated by her rise.
She knew that, of course. She had laughed about that a lot of times. She laughed again when the door of the elevator closed and left her alone in the metal case, carrying her downwards with a steady pace. She laughed like she always did: barely audible, with bared teeth and tight shoulders. She had fought and plotted her way to the top. She had left barren land behind her, uprooted and burned and poisoned. They would wait in vain for her descent. She would not fall. She could not fall. There was nothing left for her to land on.