Her Majesty's Flame

On this evening the dream comes harshly, thrusting us into the wild flames that dance around Sakalayo Peak, burning away all the sweetness.
And so the dream becomes a nightmare.
Were you getting comfortable?
We see the Malikah, strapped to her throne with bands of adamantine, her eyes bleeding Wither down her chin, which slides seductively down her neck, and beneath her stained robes. She is surrounded by doctors, scholars, mages, and engineers, who have spent a month and a merchant lord's ransom studying the twisted Efreeti. They had made little progress, as the curse of Szuriel was largely unknown, and those afflicted rarely lasted this long.
We follow an Efreeti doctor and an Elven mystic, who approach the Malikah with studious expressions. The doctor begins to speak, and raises a recording device to his mouth.
Doctor: "Day 28 of study. Vital signs are unchanged, condition is stable. Patient continues to be immobile, and does not respond to contact."
The doctor passes the device to the mystic, and pulls a syringe out of his coat, prepping the Malikah's arm to take a blood sample.
Mystic: "Magically speaking, the Malikah's auras are becoming increasingly chaotic. She does not respond to magical stimuli, or the presence of an antimagic field. She-- What did you just do?"
The doctor shifts to look back at his companion, confusion plain on his face. Blood is filling his syringe...
Doctor: "Just took a blood sample, w--"
Let's change that.
The blood is disrupted as Wither enters the syringe, eating away organic material as it makes contact. The doctor takes a step back, but its a step too late, for the Malikah renches her arm out of the metal restraints, and crushes his neck with a single fist. The mystic screams, throwing up defensive shields, and the room erupts into chaos, with many scrambling for the exit doors. They slam closed before anyone can reach them, and the Malikah throws back her head, the Horseman's laughter emanating from her throat.
Fire envelops the room, screams reaching a trill tenor, and our view is consumed by flame.