Abrogail Thrune feels, now, as wretched, as unhappy, as powerless, as ruined, as at any other point in her reign.  As wretched as when she called her halt in Hell with six circles of sorcery to become eight circles, having hoped for seven to become nine, and proved too weak for that.

She does not weep, for she's never once wept since then; and she will not give the tropes the satisfaction.

Abrogail Thrune feels, now, as wretched, as unhappy, as powerless, as ruined, as at any other point in her reign.  As wretched as when she called her halt in Hell with six circles of sorcery to become eight circles, having hoped for seven to become nine, and proved too weak for that.

She does not weep, for she's never once wept since then; and she will not give the tropes the satisfaction.

She does not think about Carissa, except as her opponent.

Abrogail Thrune feels, now, as wretched, as unhappy, as powerless, as ruined, as at any other point in her reign.  As wretched as when she called her halt in Hell with six circles of sorcery to become eight circles, having hoped for seven to become nine, and proved too weak for that.

She does not weep, for she's never once wept since that time; and she will not give the tropes the satisfaction.

She does not think about Carissa, except as her opponent.

Abrogail Thrune feels, now, as wretched, as unhappy, as powerless, as ruined, as at any other point in her reign.  As wretched as when she called her halt in Hell with six circles of sorcery to become eight circles, having hoped for seven to become nine, and proved too weak for that.

She does not weep, for she's never once wept since that time; and she will not give the tropes the satisfaction.

She does not think about Carissa, except as her opponent.