Blackfeather Woods i am a lioness, i will not cringe for them

backdated to like, an hour before she vanishes poof. 

 

Atshen is failing, and the dredded feeling of the inevitable creeps upon her like a shadow under the light of the moon; unescapable. Her sons will not inherit the dark woods, it is beyond a fact. It is a certianty. It is fate; etched into the foretellings of what future the universe has mapped out for them. Thoroughly undodgeable and undeniabily the result of her failures. However, her bloodline has not lost. Damien will take Astrid as his wife, as planned. Astrid, despite her forged status as a disgraced child, is still over her blood. Regardless of what they believe and what they will never know, Nemesis and her plans ring true to that very day. Her blood will inherit the dark woods. Perhaps along the way she lost herself to the hate and frustration of those who openly challenged her to everything she had, and fell too deep in the web of lies surrounding her one and only daughter, but nevertheless tied together in a bittersweet plan of her own devise. Damien would never know that he played so willingly into such an idea and would continue to believe that he has sucessfull pited daughter against mother, but she did not care for his ego; she had her victory. She had what she wanted, nevertheless by default and cheatery. It was not meant be her prefered son, but a daughter every bit as conviving as her mother to carry out a reign to match what Nemesis started was all well enough. Astrid would never accept such a truth, but truth prevailed amongst falsehoods and fleeting hate. The wraith, content with this knowledge, glances one last time at the speckled head before picking herself up from her seat beside the sleeping girl; uttering an apology so timid that it cannot even be written here. She does not look back as she moves on.

Next, she passes by each of her children, glancing at each in an anticipation but pausing for an extra minute as her eyes meet that of a stark white boy, one she will never truly know. It pains her, but she moves on, knowing she has limited time and much to say, for it is @Potema she seeks out next, and with purpose that she does. In only the witch does she feel the need to listen, to clarify, to defend herself for it is truly the only opinion she remotely cares to know. It was only the birth of Potema's children that divided what otherwise could have been a relationship out of mutual benefit. They were the only women, and while that did not nessicarily demand unity, it could have been something true, and thats what she wants. She wants to hear the truth, something she knows Potema will give. Light feet carries her creeping forth, nearing the witch as she rests amongst her children, seemingly content. It is something she does not want to disturb, but must so anyway, Nudging the woman once to rise, she steps back, waiting minutes before she cracks her mouth open to speak. When she does, it is without the usual cold, glass to her tone, missing the scrutiny within.

"Do you hate me for what I've done?"

It is curioisty that drives her but also the simple need to know, validation that her years spent servicing them was not all for waste. It is a burning need, and she will accept any answer put before her. The time for pride is over for her, and she knows it. The only thing left is the fire to carry on, and her doubt will not be enlightened.