Death

The Eternal One

Born beneath a moon that refused to wane, Death walks the threshold between
mortal dusk and immortal night. Her bloodline traces back to forgotten times,
her magic woven from candle smoke, sigils, and the quiet hunger of ancient
stars.

She keeps her sanctum hidden behind velvet curtains and iron-bound tomes.
Those who enter speak of a presence — a soft whisper, a cold hand brushing
their shoulder, a pulse that is not their own.

Death do not merely walk among us. She is a keeper of shadows, a collector of
secrets, and a wanderer of astral corridors where time folds like lace.

Step carefully, wanderer. Her gaze sees more than your reflection.