Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20170112225309/@comment-28358106-20170113001918

Cyndwella gazes off into the distance, her eyes not seeing what is before her, but looking into the possibilities of her near future. None of them are happy.

She keeps sitting in the swing, motionless, the snow gathering on her head and shoulders as a white mantle. The sun, struggling behind clouds as hard as the mountains they frame, finally surrenders and slides below the horizon. The lights in the town become difficult to see through the snowfall. For the first time since her arrival, and imdeed the first time since her ascendancy as one of the Favored, she wears a mask of uncertainty tinged with a hidden heartache. Before, in the Memento Mori, her sorrows were quenched by the dark love of her Lord. Here, they grow and whisper thoughts long forgotten, sowing the seeds of doubt amd fear that had been lost to her. Aidlis' words echo through her thoughts like an omen, making them grow. The Dark Father would forgive her if she failed, but she would never forgive herself.

There was only one way to wash away her feelings.

She slides off the swing, which disappears in a burst of blue flame. Brushing herself off, she teleports with a burst to her ballroom. There, with an unsmiling face, she begins going through her clothes again.