Emperor Computer Chair Novels & Stories

She is not alone. She turns around and finds the Emperor sitting on a chair, he is still in his gold armour but Kiara notices that this one is different, shinier. Up close she can see his features, they are strong, yet somehow delicate at the same time. High cheek bones and a strong jawline, yet he has thin brows that are barely there, a long straight nose and lips that are the shape of bows. Kiara makes the mistake of meeting his gaze, his eyes are hard and cold, there is not a flicker of emotion within them.

Counting these out, the room is spick and span. In the middle of the room, there’s a customized desk made of luxurious ebony. A solid-brass name plate proclaims in deep, austere letters: SEPTIMUS REX, CHIEF ASTRAL DEPORTER. Apart from this, rather curiously, the office is spartan and lacks even chairs for a visitor (not that I’d be needing any) or Septimus Rex himself to sit on.

Saya mohon maaf yang sebesar-besarnya. Saya melakukan kesalahan format berulang. Terima kasih atas The oxygen concentrator in the corner of the bedroom hummed with a rhythmic, mechanical sound that reminded Cale of the tides. He sat in the armchair next to the bed. It was a new chair, purchased ten years ago when his hips started to complain about the low-slung mid-century furniture Elion loved. Cale wore a cardigan now—navy blue, thick wool—and reading glasses that hung on a chain around his neck.

"He’s watching." "No," Saoirse said, her eyes narrowing. "Not him. Look at who is pushing the chair." Tristan squinted. Pushing the Emperor’s wheelchair was a woman. She was tall, regal, with long silver hair that cascaded down her back. She wore a collar of iron, and her posture was rigid, almost mechanical. "Who is that?" Tristan whispered, confusion knitting his brow. "One of the Emperor's new concubines?" Saoirse’s breath stopped. The world tilted on its axis.

“You assembled us here just for a baseless rumor?” In a large and gorgeous hall, ten people were seated in a circle. All the chairs were equal with the exception of one. This chair was taller than the others by a few feet and was the seat of the Northern Empire’s Emperor. The one who spoke was a middle aged man with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He sat right next to the Emperor – he was seated left of the Emperor.

Touching the seat, it was new and made of pure gold with tiger heads as the armrest. One couldn’t see the Emperor’s face, but his aura suddenly flared. “A gold seat with tiger heads for the armrest means a seat for the Female Emperor... The rules of the kingdom says, only the Emperor can sit on gold chairs. I wasn’t invited, nor do we have a Female Emperor, so, who is the Emperor you’ve been waiting for?” Although it looked like he already knew what this meeting was all about, the man wanted to play along and catch them all by the neck.

Slurping the coffee and squinting at my laptop screen, I scrolled through the new designs sent by the interior decorators; some were nice and captivating, while others left me wondering which company they plan on furnishing—definitely not mine. I scrubbed my face with my hand before tapping my finger on the large U-shaped brown executive desk with gold accents. I stumbled upon the desk while browsing online, and enthralled by the design, I ordered it, along with the Nuck Buck leather seat that came with it. The headrest was more comfortable than the chair in Manhattan. I would have loved to change it, but it’s the chairman seat—a chair my father had sat on, and his father before him. I under

Jansen was crouching in his chair in his office. His chair is Captain style on wheels with leather seat and back. Jansen leaned way back in the chair and cranked his neck hard over, he could see the sky from the office window, hazy-blue and cloudless and so smoggy.

At the same time, the swing would be difficult to install into her ceiling. London did like the fuck machine as it was called. However, she didn’t know how she wanted to install it. There was a type of chair that didn’t have a proper seat. It was made from two separate planks with a huge gap in between. Supposedly each side was meant for legs to be spread and bound. The in-between was where the fuck machine should fit. The name for such a chair was known as “Queening Chair”. What a befitting theme!

An answer to my question is given when another man enters my room, this time pushing the most compact, futuristic electric chair I’ve ever seen. It’s really just a small seat on top of big tyres, there’s not much to it, and nowhere near as bulky or cumbersome as the kind you see the elderly use. It has a joystick control, black leather lining and white exterior. I glare at the contraption with clear disdain. I’m reduced to an electric wheelchair because they won’t just let me go. Can’t walk or do shit, but still expected to make an appearance. I’ll be a sitting duck.