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[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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Let those of them who would hate her hate her. Let them condemn. Let them be misguided by history written in skewed perspective. She was what she was. The situation was what it was. She'd posted the bulletin as instructed and left it to those who read it to assume what they would. Those who understood would, and those who didn't... Well, it hardly mattered now.

The decision had been easier to make than she'd thought it would be. It was all to be near him. She'd recognized that a large part of the draw had been the blood bond, but she hadn't cared. And now she was back within the fold, among the mantle of shadow that was Umbra, and in the service to Oblivion, once again. Thankful that she'd at least been able to speak to Cezanne before she'd turned back toward darkness.

As if she'd ever truly left it in the first place.

It was a part of her, for centuries it had been so and for centuries it would continue. Darkness. Oblivion. Death. These were things she was no stranger to, things she did not fear.

A strange wistfulness and sense of homecoming had settled over her as she walked the streets of Umbra that evening, taking note of the changes that had come to pass. She'd read the flyers pardoning her son and his people and wondered what he thought of it all. It was times like these that led to the feelings of regret that he'd gone, that she no longer had him to speak to about such things. He had come into his own and prospered as she'd always known he would. In ways she'd hoped he would, and she was proud. She wondered if what Darrien had said was true a week past. Did her son truly think his mother weak? What weak woman could birth a warrior and leader like he?

She forced the questions in her mind aside. Now was not the time. Her sword had lain still too long, her spellbooks had grown dusty from lack of use. Oblivion would demand service and she would deliver in fine form. Without fail. The ab'Arawn had returned to Umbra.