A glowing emerald orb illuminated the tiny space between a moldy wall deep in the Undercity and the decrepit wagon, causing shadows to bob and dance as it hovered in the air in front of the warlock's face. As she withdrew a sheaf of parchment from her pack, she guided the ball of light down to float above her hands while she shuffled through the worn patterns, covered in her notations and scribbles. Made that one...made that one...haven't the skill for this one yet...haven't the materials for that one...Acherontia sighed. She had to work. She had to do something, anything to forget the haunting sound that still echoed within her mind and had dropped like a great burden upon Melchisedech's shoulders. The young warlock could not erase the mournful light from her vision, that slow undulation of color and spirit that was Sylvanus Windrunner. The banshee had sung of loss, of the past, of regret - the very things Melchisedech had counseled Acherontia to leave behind. A shadow crossed her face as she remembered his counsel. He had mouthed the words of the so-called queen over and over and over again, told her flat out that her life had been of no worth...and now, days after they had stumbled across the banshee in her sorrow and mourning, Acherontia still heard the crying in her song. Angrily, she banished the eye with a sharp word. She hoped he could still hear it too. All this time, she had been trying not to dwell on the secret memories he had pressed her to forget at the counsel of that hypocrite elf-queen.
Her husband. Her daughter.
Acherontia trembled faintly as a shiver of rage coursed through her. By the Light, she hoped he could still hear it too.