She is the guardian of the line between life and death. Darkness flows from her eyes like tears of forgetting, and in her hands is a skull — a symbol of memory and loss. Blue roses grow from her hair, fed by secrets and sorrow. Each rose holds a soul that hasn’t found peace. Who is she — a witch, a muse of grief, or death itself in a beautiful form? No one knows. The answer hides in her deep, dark gaze.