Second, as usual, she thinks to herself as she arrives to the summons, the resounding call of her name easy enough to pick out even about the rabble and chaos of the myriad frames shoved into this hole. If being a wraith had been awful (she surely didn’t remember much of it, except that she had been given wings, and possibly even claws, repressing a mental shudder) surely the pit she had been forced to reside in among the squalor of Helovia was a worse fate than living death.

She couldn’t get the stench of feathers out of her nose. At least this summons was a distraction from it all, a lure to pull her from her hidden corner where she hatefully glared at them all for bringing this hell down upon the kingdom.

Besides, he had sounded important. How else could he make his voice so large? She didn’t recognize the voice, either, which dangled another gleaming, curious bauble before her, drawing her towards the one branch of the caves she hadn’t even thought of exploring: the black pit, a mouth that ate all light, and that was before she’d known it had been a God who called her by name.

Amulets jangling she comes to a halt before the God of the Mountain and her co-leader, a black stallion which she eyes with the same casual disinterest that she has adopted in favor of her own reputation. It is not a look of disgust, as has been given in prior months – but the Lady has grown in the weeks of shadow that have assaulted them as of late, her ire aglow once more with thoughts of a pristine mountain valley stolen by phantoms, the poignant memory of her best friend outlined by the rippling colors their home had been named for driving her cold resolve to care nothing at all for the man alongside her anymore.

Not even hate, she thinks, letting her inward amusement at regaining herself shine through in her golden eyes as she bows her head low and gracefully to the powerful lord of the storm who has called her to him.

She has spoken with the Gods very rarely in her life, all though she has lived among the masses of Helovia for nearly all of her years, and his power thrills her in ways that disgust over his mixed breeding cannot defeat. "Our Lord of Time," she says sweetly as she rises from her elegant greeting, speaking words (also as usual) for both keepers of the mountain, "what would you have of us?"