[h3]Giselle de Farry[/h3][i]Undead Princess, de Farry[/i]

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Not in the plan, indeed. 

Giselle had lived for over a thousand years, and she had seen countless deaths, and prevented countless more. Even with the downfall of the very last days, there was little comparison to being struck down in victory, with Illena being felled by the undead creature’s last unnatural gasp. It was an unnatural reminder to how vulnerable that she, along with her fellow vampire lords, had become to be struck down in such an unfitting way. 

With the battle finished, seeing her fellow lord fail to rise, she lowered her head in a moment of silence for her fallen comrade. 

Were circumstances more normal, she would have created a grand sepulcher for the fallen lady, but this was anything but. She had neither the time, luxury, nor power to create a fitting tomb or even a burial. In the future, perhaps, she could return in better times—or, given their current mission to resurrect the remainder of her fellow peers, she would help Illena to rise once more when the right time came. 

Seeing Luna take up the heart that their fallen peer had been safeguarding, she summoned up a portion of her remaining meagre blood. Swirling the small ball of ichor suspended above her open palm, she created a simple crimson box. With another touch of energy, she concentrated on the small container before the shade of metal washed over the object, the box turning from blood to thin tin. 

Stepping over to Luna, she wordlessly opened the box with an outstretched hand for the songstress and the serpent's heart. [b]“Here. This simple box is hardly a fitting vessel for such a priceless artifact, but for now, it will have to do.” [/b]

With a shake of her head, she moved to the spot where Illena had fallen, together with the paladin. Briefly kneeling, she took custody of the silver sword in her hand. While she was still too weak to restore the holy weapon, it was still a potent weapon, even if it has been tainted with Illena’s blood and that of potential countless others of her peers and friends. 

At the very least, someone had to take it lest it fall into improper hands. 

Approaching Aleksiya, she held out her scythe for the shorter lady, recalling her preference for the scythe. [b]“I have no use for this now. If you would like it, it is yours.”[/b]

If she could still properly sigh, she would have then. [b]“I suppose we’ve stayed here long enough, as somber as this victory is. Shall we?”
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