Her loneliness was all consuming, colouring her world and sending even the trees stark white and ashen.

This had been her home for so many centuries.

So long she could not remember her own name, her old life.

She had made this choice in despair and rage, now there was nothing of those feelings left to warm her.

The rage had kept her hot blooded and fierce for so many years.

Yet even the reason for her anger was lost to her.

Still.

Still she went on, circling the graves, making her marks.

Reaching her clawed and icy hand out towards anyone who happened to pass.

Her never-ending torment, her cold, cold fate.