Yana
Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead
Everything about the tower – its light, its warmth, its mirth -- is uncomfortable for the little black hermit shuffling up its steps. Voices reverberate through the stonework like gnats, barraging her ears with an incessant wave of laughter. The hag braces herself against the cacophony of mixed and mangled voices, lashing her tail and pinning her ears each time she passes a doorway. This is exactly why I never leave the swamp. How do these people get anything done?
There was never a need for the witch to venture this far from her boggy abode – not even when she bore the title of Champion of Healing. In those days, whenever the witch was needed, the denizens knew where to find her: in the reclusive depths of Tinea Swamp.
Time passes. Things change. You'll have to earn that respect again.
Finding her new Sovereign was another matter entirely, especially considering she didn’t know whom she was looking for. Based off the conversations she has overheard, this monarch was another stringent, loyal, and proficient warrior determined to see the realm thrive. Not the witch is particularly interested in things like character or morality -- though she is grateful to be under someone's protection rather than abused by harsh laws and strict punishments (her lungs produce a particularly nasty cough at that, as if to reaffirm to their wretched mistress that they remember such practices). So long as she is free to conduct her experiments then she cares little for who gets to rule who. The witch isn’t likely to spend time away from her experiments to bother with politics, anyway; socialization has never been her priority.
Perhaps it is her stubborn nature that prevents the starry girl from asking for help, or maybe her lack of social skills (she is used to talking to a giant black rock, after all). Regardless, Yana is content to wander the lavish halls of the tower in search of the Commander. Grey eyes flit from tapestry to figure, collecting information about the Dusk Court and its deity as she walks. Religion is a topic the witch never bothered to pander with, though it is one she will revisit later when she doesn’t feel so out of her element.
Her feet bring her to a vast set of doors where she stands, shifting her weight from foot to foot, before curiosity gets the better of her. She grasps for the handle, slowly pushing one towering door open to reveal a vast sea of scrolls bordered by mountains of books. She has never seen such an expansive collection before, and the witch is mortified to think that she may have never seen it if she chose to remain home.
The witch settles down beside a particularly precarious stack of books, all thoughts of the Commander seemingly forgotten as she scans their titles.
A Brief History of Terrastella. Though your volume suggests you are not as brief as you claim.
