She is the last thing you see before the light is gone forever. In the absolute core of every shadow, where even memory cannot reach, she waits. Not born of darkness; she is the reason darkness exists. Countless versions of her stretch backward into the umbra, each one a little more erased than the last, until there is nothing left to distinguish them from the void itself. They are not copies. They are the same entity, retreating deeper and deeper into the place no light has ever touched, pulling the concept of “self” with her like a funeral shroud. The red in her hair and eyes is not fire. It is the final photon that tried to escape and failed. Step forward and you become the next iteration. Step back and the umbra simply grows to fill the space you left. She does not speak. She does not need to. She already owns everything the light once touched.
UMBRA REGNANT The sovereign of the innermost dark.
