Dragoncrest Cliffs gade zetwal yo

Sobo.
Maleah knew little about spirits, where they went; but what she did know was death, in all its macabre beauty. A fascination with it since she was but a child with soft eyes and downy fur, examining the marrow of bones and where cartilage once held joints.
And she knew what it did to those who knew it, who witnessed it, who lived in its shadow. She saw it in little Sobeille just recently, and the thought of it gave a tar-black feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She comes to settle beside the obsidian in a huddle beneath the pine branches. Her tail wraps neatly around the outside of her thigh as a quiet heave comes from deep in her lungs. I don't know if this would be any comfort to you, puffy evergreen eyes are found and held with the warmth of Maleah's own. but I like to think that when we die, our energy is still floating around. Everywhere we look, there's pieces of them.
She could have spewed the dogma of they're watching over you and they're never really gone; could have exited the conversation with nothing but a lazy shrug, but no one deserved that. Mireille didn't deserve that.
There was no bullshitting death.
Do you see him in your children?