When she is painted in vivid sanguine, Cessair spoke before them. Eyes of vultures promising her the gallows to matter her words, mercy long cast aside by poisoned hate.

Her tongue was heavy as lead, rust tasted in every breath. Through cracked lips, she voices the final sound of a hanged woman. "My words won't matter, anything I say will condemn me in your eyes. I tell the truth, you will accuse me of lying to save my life, I tell the lies you have conjured, it merely proves you are correct in hanging me."

Tilting her head back, greasy hair falling in clumps behind her, the amethyst-eyed woman declares. "I am Cessair Brone, I condemned my own mother to the reaper with the sin of being born. From the moment of my first breath, I have been cast aside by the world, tarnished by the falling sands of the hourglass. These blood strangers stand before accusing me of poisoning the brother I never had, eyes blinded by poison and lungs drowned in vile. No words spoken from my tongue will save my life, for my life has always been forfeit."

She stops, never glancing toward the imperial family, not caring to know what lurks inside their icy gazes. Cessair breaths in rust and speaks out her last. "Hang me from the gallows, dear ignorant masses! Hang me and revel in your false justice!"

Cessair feels the floor drop and the rope tighten around her neck, the vultures cheering for her demise. The world spins on the axis and she has returned to her mother's side.

Her corpse is left to rot, its flesh picked apart for carrion.

The imperial family returns to the palace, the emperor treating the affair as if it was another one of his meetings. His love only extends to his children, his two sons. The woman hung up on the gallows, even though she is his blood, but never his daughter. No love is needed to be given to a demon possessing his dead child's corpse. He opts to ignore how much she looked like his late wife.

Apathy comes to the crown prince's brother, not having cared when she finally died, nor having cared when he knew she was innocent. His world only moves for his family, his father and his brother. If one of them asked for the world he would give them it, if they asked for an innocent to be hanged who was he to deny? Not even her visceral final words could sway him, even if he finds he has written them down.

One voice echoes in the ears of the crown prince, the voice of a dead woman haunt him. She was the one who poisoned him, he knows she would. After all, why wouldn't she? Jealousy is powerful. Jealous of...what? Of the fact he was loved by their father, by the fact he got to be raised by his father, of if he asked for it, his father would burn the world? A part of his mind, sounding like her, merely asks him if wanting to be loved was enough for him to hate her.

Years from then, a dead woman rises from a nameless grave. She awakes her mind fogged in oblivion, fingers bloodied and caked in dirt. For the first time in years Cessair breathes anew, three strangers stood before her.

Once amethyst eyes turned to opal, copper strands given up for platinum, she stands before eternity. The silence breaks as she tilts her head, eyes puzzled. "I'm sorry have we met before?"

Those words more than anything break, one of the strangers. A man in the crown, eyes far too sad for someone who lives. "I am your brother."

Cessair laughs a little, her words shattering him like glass. "I'm sorry, I think I would remember having a brother."

Once again the world spins on its axis, this time uncertain of its path.

At the splintering of the world, they met once again. Thana stands her mournful vigil, draped in velvet funeral shroud. Cold drips down her ashen face, pattering to the ground. Her fingers are numb when they speak in a low tone. “I was curious when they mentioned the bereaver upon the hill.“

”Why are you here, Altalune?” Her voice was hollow and raspy, throat unused to words from years of disuse. Thana’s gaze remained on the horzion, honeysuckle and tiger lily giving way to irises speckled with pearls.

“I wished to see you again,“ Altalune‘s footsteps come closer, the wind turns colder. The god’s every cold hand rests on her shoulder, an insincere sympathy from a cruel master. “It would be in poor taste to leave you to your own devices.”

She tenses at the the touch, the grip tightens as a warning. Alatune’s other hand comes to gently guide her gaze to meet the god’s. Thana’s dull eyes look into the gods, tears still trailing the contour of her face. ”Poor taste….? After everything you done, this is what is in poor taste.”

Alatune’s face turns from indifferent to sad, one hand trying to wipe away Thana’s tears. The woman feels the cold grasp her again, causing the world to tilt on the axis. Arms come to cradle her gently, more faux sympathy. For once in an eternity, Thana can feel her tears dry, fatigue carving itself into her bone. “You begged me to save you, I did. I gave you my love and promised you forever.”

All the while, the god holds their quarry is some semblance of love. ”And that is all you ever wanted, right?.

Wild ivy creeps out from terracotta cracks

Hollow stones hold names snatched by falling sand

Yew wicker expands overhead

Murmurs and mumbles spread the tales

Simple fables spoken by treasonous tongues

They warn of madness burrowed deep inside

Wisdom of their forbearers given to each new soul

One rule set to follow for the next grave keeper

Eternity is the only witness to the fate of the keeper

Known to her of how silvery whispers tug to break the rule

Penumbral shades tempt the gaze

Labyrinth twisted from briar and stone

Argent crescent weeps as will is frayed

Before the keeper stands a solitary grave

Broken they move like a puppet on strings

Pale eyes intake the forbidden letters engraved in granite

Upon the dawntide a body is strung from the gates

Body painted by sanguine

Within the cycle another comes to gate

Advice is given once more

My currently heavily homebrewed campaign with my group is underway and I am playing easily my most tragic and dark d&d character, Amaryl Floretbane.

She is from the land of Pazireal before coming to the campaign, a land where dragons rule and regularly have ritualistic cannibalism. Amaryl fittingly is a dragon of these lands, one of the few who are permanently in a human like form.

She and her older sister, Olean, were adopted by their dads at a young age, growing and thriving without the need to eat humanoid flesh. During this time she developed a taste for alchemy, working alongside her dad to craft new recipes.

All good must end however, while Amaryl picked up alchemy, Olean developed a fascination for the loch, all to soon vanishing into it.

The left behind sister began to spiral into thoughts of self blame and self doubt, falsely believing if she was a better sister then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. That her imperfections was the cause.

This spiral was aggravated by the son of another dragon coming to her family home to learn from her pa, learning but also pushing her down, down, down.

He convinced her to push the borders of her own ethics, her own instability following down the path. Here, Amaryl ate her first taste of humanoid flesh, an addiction for dragons of her kind.

The last experimen saw her consume the blood of an awakened being, given her a veritas with the ironic epithet of Salvation.

Amaryl spiraled until she tried to take her newly acquired godclaw and spear it through her body, the facade of stability cracking enough for her fathers to help her.

Slowly, Amaryl was able to physically recover from her addiction, albeit with an inability to stomach any form of meat, mentally not so much.

Amaryl takes any failures to heart and will do whatever it takes to make perfection, making her her own worst enemy.

Eventully, Amaryl found her sister’s map of the loch and followed it, ending up in the titular Shadewaters seeking out a possible cure for her addiction and a location of her sister.

The dragon unfortunately must live if a lingering noose over her neck, one of the addiction she fought so hard to stop.

She ends up partnering with Arsen, a sick woman looking for a cure. One needs expertise for her illness, the other needs an extra body.

Now both are on the ship of an unlucky captain and her crew.

Only tides know of Amaryl’s future fate.

On the mechanical side, we use a talent system so Amaryl is a mix of three talent trees. Alchemy, dragon, and veritas.

Her dragon talents mainly involve wing maneuvers, mainly fancy options for when she is flying. Alchemy involves support items, like healing potions and the pain draft. Her veritas involves light manipulatio, creating a protective wall or a raging storm. Amaryl is very support based, also very easy to stop with her low hit points, making her flying options good for escaping.

Renata stood before the grave, careful to not crush the lilies and roses underfoot. Etched upon the stone was the words for a dead man. ”’Here lay King Elwin Niall, beloved ruler and father.’ I can tell Ophelia wrote it, didn’t she?”

The Third Princess of the Alkine Empire, more commonly the Forgotten Princess, couldn’t help but leak a visceral bitterness into her voice, Her stormy gaze shifts to the figure to her left, her brother, Lucian, the 1st prince of the empire, so to be king.

He shifts is head, a hand fiddling with a strand of coffee hair. The prince doesn’t return his sister’s bitterness, instead speaking in a calm voice. “I won’t defend her words nor our father’s actions, but at least to us he was a proper father.”

”At least to you,” Renata scoffs, Lucian flinches at her words. “I guess it’s easier to pretend he was a good man then remember what he did.”

Renata’s grey eyes return to the grave, millions of memories fighting to come back to the surface. The king was well known to love his first two children, always making time for them, always spoiling them. Never was this true for his last child, the one who was born at the cost of his soulmate’s life. The one he left to rot away and only bringing her to court as an act of torture.

Jealousy was a good way to describe Renata’s feelings towards her siblings. Watching as the king set aside time for them, never bothering except to scold Renata. Never once speaking a world of kindness about his youngest, raising up his older children. Always believing Ophelia’s lies about her younger sister’s falsified missteps.

Lucian and Ophelia reacted every differently to Renata’s arrival. The older kept his tongue unlike his sister, stopping her if she goes to far but never stopping her to begin with. Ophelia was a master of words, knowing how to make her words hurt. Renata’s cheek faintly stung with a ghost pain from when the woman threatened her just for daring to talk to another noble.

Lucian’s voice found it’s way into her rapidly spiraling thoughts. “-nata! Renata, you need to breath!”

The woman’s vision came back into focus as she found herself being supported by Lucian, the prince easing both to sit down in the dirt, ruining was is probably highly expensive fabric. His words are calm and quiet, but loud enough for her to hear. “Sister, if you can hear me, are you able to tell me five things you can see?”

She pauses as her grey eyes focus, she lefts a sweaty and shaking hand to point. ”The grave...Ms. Deidra’ tower, the valley lilies, my hand…and…”

Renata looks around again, settling on her brother. “You.”

He smiles, gently grasping his sister’s hand. ”Now four things you can feel.”

What can’t see feel? Everything burns her raw…”My clothes, the dirt beneath us. This breeze. Your hand…”

Lucian pushes on, a voice in the back of Renata’s mind says that maybe this is how he is trying to repent for his inaction. “You are doing great, now what is three things you can hear?”

”My breathing, your voice, a…the leaves rustling.”

His thumb starts to gently rub her hand, aiding to ground her more. “Wonderful, now can you tell me two things you smell?”

Renata manages to find the energy to snort while she continues. “Your terrible smelling cologne and the roses by the grave.”

He laughs while he finishes. “Is there one thing you can taste, Rena?”

A metallic tang fills her mouth, when did she have time to bite her tongue? “Blood.”

The Princess heaves in a labored breath as they just sit there infront of the grave, pondering the duality of the man who raised them, one raised by his kindness and the other by his neglect. It was Lucian who spoke first. “I know you love to write, unlike them I listened to the words you wish to share behind closed doors.”

”Why….” She trailed off, to tired to move away from her brother. She felt wetness hit the top of her hair, the unfinished question cracking her brothers facade.

”I was scared. A bad excuse I know, Rena,“ He all but whispered, daring to share the truth not even his closest confidant knows. “I didn’t want to admit it. Face the reality of who my father is.”

”I understand,” Renata consoled her brother, gripping his hand back. “The man you and I know where to very different people, yet the same man. You don’t have to feel guilty for how he treated me compared to you. Mourn the man who raised you Lucian, the man who loved you.”

She feels the tension in him collapse. He speaks again in a whisper. “What was the poem you wrote before this happened? The one you were going to show Ms. Deidra.”

She pauses. “Equivocal. To be unable to formulate an opinion on.”

Thus, the Forgotten Princess speaks words to a repentant brother, hope for the future filling the space.