The Sun was set just beyond the mountain, the tops of ash covered trees turning into dark silhouette's. Deep within her fortress made of stone, Mishka Nightshade dipped back into her tomb; her mausoleum. Her long, ebony black, curly hair stretching down to her lower back, framing her porcelain face. She looked like a dark angel, an angel of death. Her mismatched colored eyes of frost white and a golden yellow scanned the surrounding dark prison for intruder's.

Of course there are no intruder's, Mishka. No one is going to bother us. Well, maybe none save for a few grave robber's, but even they don't bite.

Mishka's mind whispered to her. Her spirit voice seemed stringy, always whispering like a ghost. But wasn't that exactly what the spirit voice was: a ghost? Mishka bit her lip, it had been a century now. She still hand no clue of what she was, though she knew who she was. At one point she had been the infamous Mishka Nightshade, heiress to the Nightshade throne. A Blue blood. She alone was the true inheritor of Nero Nightshade's fortune. She also knew that this made her a mighty priestess of Wicca, and also Gaia's voice. On a cold October night her parents were brutally murdered and in a rushed daze of grief and furry she had used the powers of the Dark to extract her revenge on those who murdered her family. For abusing the right of her powers the Gods and Goddesses of the high court decided her fate and they turned her into an ancient being. She could only roam at night and couldn't leave the forest. She was made into a guardian of sorts. a hybrid of everything. They called her the "Forsaken."

Mishka looked at the runes on her arms and hid her face. Gentle, crystal tears rolled down her rune covered cheeks. She wished to be human, she wished that there would be someone to take it all away. Perhaps there would be a brighter future in store for her...