Xyl'gotha turned its burning gaze upon Titania, assessing her struggling form with an air of detached amusement. A dry, rattling chuckle escaped its skeletal frame. It turned back to Lysander, its unholy light glinting with a cruel intelligence.
"Master," it rasped, its voice dripping with morbid humor, "what exactly do you wish done? Because," it continued, drawing a small, intricately carved obsidian box from within the folds of its shadowy robes, "I have a better idea."
The Lich opened the box, revealing a pulsating, dark crystal within – a phylactery. "I have never made an undead fairy," it mused, its gaze flicking back to Titania. "A queen, no less. A fascinating prospect." It paused, its gaze returning to Lysander. "Fear not, my Lord. Her power would not be wasted. As one of the undead, she could serve you for eternity, free from the frailties of life."
Xyl'gotha's bony fingers tightened around the phylactery. "I know you value the… fairy queen. But think of the possibilities! An undead sovereign of the fey, bound to your will. Her magic, twisted and amplified by the energies of death… it would be a weapon unlike any other."
A wave of cold fury washed over Lysander. He emanated a palpable aura of domineering power, his glacial eyes locking onto Xyl'gotha's unholy gaze.
"Silence, Lich," Lysander commanded, his voice resonating with an authority that brooked no argument. "Titania is one of my subordinates, just as you are now bound to my will. I am not in the business of sacrificing those who pledge their loyalty to me."
Just as Lysander spoke, a sickening crackle echoed as the relentless corruption finally overwhelmed Titania's weakening shield. Black tendrils, as if imbued with a ravenous hunger, lashed out, striking the Fairy Queen. A heart-wrenching scream tore from her lips, a sound of pure agony that pierced the oppressive atmosphere.
The sound hit Lysander like a physical blow. His breath hitched, his body freezing as a fragmented image flashed through his mind. He was lying awake, paralyzed in the darkness, surrounded by the cacophony of countless men and women screaming and crying out in terror and despair. The scene was disjointed, a fleeting glimpse of unimaginable suffering, before it abruptly cut off, leaving Lysander standing rigid, his glacial eyes wide with an unreadable emotion, the echo of Titania's pain still ringing in his ears.