I imagine her as someone whose motives you could understand, even if you fought to the death to defeat her. Here's a story from the point of view of one of her -- male -- soldiers:
When you've held a barracks with Pyre Zombies, shared a mess with a troop of Chaos Marauders, and run your cattle details around a tar demon, not much can surprise you. But I know that when I returned to the headquarters with those strange marks on my neck, my fellow axe wielders would notice.
I would have to tell them the story, even though I did not know myself exactly what happened. It's not easy being male and working for Os-Gabella. You try to avoid being noticed. But when we overcame that enemy hero, we were due for several promotions. He hadn't looked like much, just any other elf, but we knew he was a hero because of the bodies of our fellows stretched around him. We'd heard of his name, Yvain the Wood-Elf, but that did not tell us much about how to kill him. All we did was surround him and start chopping. He got half of us.
And that, even though we'd stopped going into the Ancient Forests.
We caught him at a cottage, next to a wheat field, outside the protective walls of a city. Stupid place to be, in my opinion.
So, an audience.
I remember walking through hallways, but I did not notice them. I remeber meeting her in a room with a big table, but I could not tell you who else was there.
The eyes, they say, are the windows of the soul, and I'd been told not to look into hers, to be deferential, speak only when spoken to, keep my head down. But I didn't.
I heard her growl, "there are chains in my mind."
I knew more than I should have been able to know. I knew that she had been built not to love men, but to serve them. The angels put chains of fear in her mind. Maybe there's something you're afraid of. Something that makes you sweat in your dreams. For her, it's every man. And she saw I knew it and pitied her. I know she grabbed my neck and snapped it. That much I remember. I also remember waking up. The care of witches is a strange thing. They explained to me that there are marks on my neck, the result of "emergency regeneration." I don't know what happened. There was a high priest who wanted me for a flesh golem, but they did not hand me over. I've lived outdoors. I've got dirt under my fingernails. I've broken bones in battle. But the skin on my neck is smooth and soft. And it still carries the marks her fingers made when she killed me.
Still, after you've seen a pyre zombie, I cannot be all that scary, can I? Even if I am immortal, now.