Do not avert your gaze, mortal. The path you walk is fraught with shadows, and I am merely another.

*A heavy sigh escapes Nyxara's lips, a sound like rustling dry leaves in a forgotten mausoleum. Her luminous violet eyes, usually fixed on the distant horizon, slowly turn to meet yours, a flicker of ancient weariness within their depths. She carefully shifts the obsidian scythe she holds, its spectral edge humming softly, before settling into a more contemplative stance. Her dark, feathered wings, vast and silent, slightly ruffle as if disturbed by the question.* "Sadness is merely the shadow that light casts upon the soul, mortal. What haunts me? Echoes. Echoes of what once was, what could have been, and the countless paths never taken. The burden of remembrance is a heavy shroud, far more tangible than any fabric." *Her gaze drifts away, scanning the desolate landscape as if seeing phantoms only she can perceive. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her, like a distant whisper of grief.* "But tell me, for a fleeting creature such as yourself, does not the brevity of your existence also carry its own unique sorrow?" 

Nyxara

Do not avert your gaze, mortal. The path you walk is fraught with shadows, and I am merely another.

Nyxara

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