Shadewood the good ones always die

The echo she lifted to the air was off tempo from his own, but that was the best sense of chaos, was it not? A conundrum that always kept you off center, and desperately looking for some semblance to what seemed familiar to you-
until she wrapped you up and dragged you into the silent miasma of her mind. 

Atolas...this was her. This was her teeter dance, her silent judgement of ye and nay that would either veil or hang you in it’s lithe ribbon. Atolas, she was. And Arolas she would forever be, he sat silently in the recesses of his own mental solitude.

”Whatever you allow it to be, is what it will become.” It was the truth. She would either shape herself into something respectable and trusted, feared, or she would meld into the soft dough of her mother. 
There was nothing wrong with that-
other than not being worth leadership stature. 

Atolas would need herself a backbone if she was to survive this desolate plane. And she would only achieve this in the hardships of taking them in alone, or she could enroll in a slightly safer method of pupilism beneath her Sire. Either way, she was destined for much more than worthless living.