*wanders through the Halls, weary and numbed to the core after a long day of consigning souls to their fates* *hasn't had a true Redeemable ever in days and days* *has allowed some few rehousings, though--couldn't bring herself to keep the youngest children from the light*
*idly watches the various bits of goo, shade, and gooey shade as they scatter before her, instinctively driven to flee before anything too Light (piercing and painful, as the Sun's glare in the wasteland) or too Dark (chill and empty, pitiless to the lost)* *sometimes wonders whether they can tell the difference between herself and her Lord, whom they seem to fear above all else* *does so love that dark, dark Doomsman of hers*
*reaches one of the outer fringes and pauses in her step, glancing down a seemingly endless corridor (none of them ever really end so much as they turn back in on themselves)*
*hears a new, and yet old Song--one she once knew very well, indeed* *listens for a moment longer to be sure* *he always was low-key, if not outright shy*
*fades into the shadows and reincorporates two floors above, speaking even before her form has become visible* When were you planning to announce yourself to the Lady of these Halls, pupil mine?