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Inside a glass casket is where The Dark Lord lays his Lady love to rest. His Kingdom is one of ruins, ash and monsters, but within the heart of his dark tower, he builds a sanctuary worthy of Valinor. Worthy of her.
His Galadriel.
Her casket and the pedestal on which it rests are decorated with vines and leaves forged from gold and embedded with shining jewels of the highest quality. Willow trees weep over her sleeping form, while brightly coloured blooms sprout from the grass to caress her reflection. When he is not there the butterflies flutter from perch to perch, often taking rest upon the gleaming glass, and the birds dare sing their songs of sorrow for the fallen beauty in their midst.
He has taken great care to make this place beautiful. Every flower, shrub, tree, and blade of grass has been meticulously chosen. Only that which is perfect is allowed within this chamber. Every wall bursts with vibrant flowers, the ceiling is covered in vines and draping plants, a footpath made of gold leads to the room's most precious treasure, and the mighty doors that protect it all are spelt with magic so strong that even another maiar would baulk at trifling with them.
Sauron stares down at Galadriel.
To the world, it simply looks as if she sleeps. And she does, but it is no ordinary sleep. He had placed an enchantment upon her. A powerful one.
He knows she will not join him. Not yet. Her stubbornness, though endearing, has proven too formidable. If he had more time he knows he could whittle her down, make her see that he only intends to save Middle-Earth. That his way is the only way to do it. But Middle-Earth cannot wait any longer. What must be done, must be done. And so, he has lulled Galadriel, his greatest and most devoted foe, into a sleep so deep it will take centuries to wake her.
By then, he will have set things right and she will see with her own eyes that she was wrong to doubt him.
She will accept him then. She will agree to take her place by his side, where she should have been had she ceased galloping and allowed herself to think. They will rule together as King and Queen, The Dark Lord and His Lady of Light, husband and wife bound through oath, blood and soul.
It is inevitable. They are inevitable, for their meeting was the work of something greater than chance.
"Rest well, my love," Sauron whispers softly. He leans down, placing a kiss on the glass directly above her lips. "I will visit again soon."
His reluctance to leave is strong, but the sooner his plans bear fruit, the sooner he can return, and the sooner he and Galadriel can be reunited in the waking world.
And not just that of her dreams.