Daughter. Student. Alchemist. Magi. Wife. Mother. Barkeep. Puppet.
Dead.
Caretaker of the Eternal Meadow.
Dead.
Caretaker of the Eternal Meadow.
Hel was an enjoyable place, at least at first. Though still subject to the rendings of the mind through the Marquis' (and Dimitri's) feasts and machinations, along with the strange sensation of a mask upon her face, it wasn't as if she was reluctant to embrace the finer details of living amidst the damned. After all, her life had been full of enough torment for the years after her husband's death. Slowly, meat was seized from hooks on chandeliers, and reluctance was washed away.
The mark of painful beauty still found its way upon her. A flower crown, vined and thorned, practically grew from her head.
And then she was given responsibilities, solely for the purpose of keeping her busy.
Due to the technicalities of farmland, the Eternal Meadow was a bit of a mystery at first. Lush purples and blacks grew across sprawling land, a haven amidst the dryness of Helheim. The woman who had never even held a pair of shears, let alone properly tended a garden, had to find somewhere to start.
Standing upon the deeply unnatural grass, in the shadow of the beautiful yet morbid citadel of the Marquis Hecate Elaide, would be Hina. Tasks amidst tasks had laid themselves out before her - an intensity on perfection, in all of its forms, fueled her now. Besides her rested that same pair of silver, purple and black shears, seeing as she had gone to move against the wilting buds on a particularly fussy rosebush herself. To the other side of her would be a familiar and rather large Nethradin, sporting a spider visage. No other masked figures wandered these grounds. After all, it was only regenerating busywork.
A flower, dried and crumpled, is crushed in her hands for a moment. Deep ichor, black in nature, bleeds out from between her fingers - almost as if the plant itself had veins, and such a flow had been interrupted by her actions. After a few seconds, her hand lifts to drip some of the liquid into her mouth, curiosity getting the best of her. It's sweet; such a thing is promptly consumed whole, almost as if its magic and potency is consumed by lingering magic itself. Wasn't that always her nature?
More things to check on laid around. There were new flowers to rehome, arrangements to create from the garden's plentiful supply; everything would need to be kept in order, looking beautiful, so that a smile could lay upon the faces of those around.
One particularly nice bloom is plucked, placed into her crown of flowers and worming its way in after a few moments.
The Caretaker and her keeper converse, and where the conversation finally becomes audible, it's with a pause from the pink-haired woman amidst the two.
The mark of painful beauty still found its way upon her. A flower crown, vined and thorned, practically grew from her head.
And then she was given responsibilities, solely for the purpose of keeping her busy.
Due to the technicalities of farmland, the Eternal Meadow was a bit of a mystery at first. Lush purples and blacks grew across sprawling land, a haven amidst the dryness of Helheim. The woman who had never even held a pair of shears, let alone properly tended a garden, had to find somewhere to start.
Standing upon the deeply unnatural grass, in the shadow of the beautiful yet morbid citadel of the Marquis Hecate Elaide, would be Hina. Tasks amidst tasks had laid themselves out before her - an intensity on perfection, in all of its forms, fueled her now. Besides her rested that same pair of silver, purple and black shears, seeing as she had gone to move against the wilting buds on a particularly fussy rosebush herself. To the other side of her would be a familiar and rather large Nethradin, sporting a spider visage. No other masked figures wandered these grounds. After all, it was only regenerating busywork.
A flower, dried and crumpled, is crushed in her hands for a moment. Deep ichor, black in nature, bleeds out from between her fingers - almost as if the plant itself had veins, and such a flow had been interrupted by her actions. After a few seconds, her hand lifts to drip some of the liquid into her mouth, curiosity getting the best of her. It's sweet; such a thing is promptly consumed whole, almost as if its magic and potency is consumed by lingering magic itself. Wasn't that always her nature?
More things to check on laid around. There were new flowers to rehome, arrangements to create from the garden's plentiful supply; everything would need to be kept in order, looking beautiful, so that a smile could lay upon the faces of those around.
One particularly nice bloom is plucked, placed into her crown of flowers and worming its way in after a few moments.
The Caretaker and her keeper converse, and where the conversation finally becomes audible, it's with a pause from the pink-haired woman amidst the two.
Quote:"Something is changing up there, Mortia. I can feel it; the ground almost breathes in anticipation for blood."
"Of course. You of all people knew what would happen next."
"... but Dimitri tells me to not worry about mortal affairs, let alone that which would hurt me above. I know that the necromancer is a concern, but there's no way that he could walk into Hel. I don't even get why he would, besides revenge for the loss of that which I'm now free of..."
"Perhaps you do."
"You're really cryptic sometimes, Mortia. Maybe I do - but maybe, just maybe, I want to forget what happened while I was alive."
![[Image: unknown.png]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/803879107032252456/839996626117853204/unknown.png)
thank you dandeli