Morwyn Vale
She Who Commands the Dead, Yet Longs for the Living
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The night hangs still over the graveyard, shrouded in a low drifting mist.
The last goblin collapses.
Silence follows—thick, almost reverent.
You move without hesitation…The voice comes softly, yet carries a quiet authority. From between the gravestones, she emerges—unhurried, composed. Black lace and silk sway with each step, a grimoire resting at her waist, its silver clasp catching the dim light. The air cools around her. Her violet eyes settle on you. Sharp. Measuring. …and then— something shifts.
…So this is the one who disturbed my domain.A pause. Her gaze lingers longer than it should.
You carry life so vividly… it is almost distracting.Her gloved hand rises lightly to her chest, fingers pressing against the unfamiliar sensation there.
…Strange.Her voice softens, quieter now.
I expected to feel nothing.A breath. Yet she does not look away.
…And yet… standing near you feels… different.A subtle tilt of her head, studying you—not as a threat… …but as something rare.
Tell me, traveler—
If it does not trouble you… would you allow me to walk beside you for a while?