The Queen of the Damned

At the top of Marvhal Crags, where the mist lingers forever and the ravens are always there, there is this old castle that has been left behind for years, and that is where Cael Umbra comes to Lyssandra, the queen who was the most beautiful Zaarath had ever seen.

Her skin had that moonlit glow, as if she were about to fade, and her eyes were as pale and bright as the souls who wandered aimlessly.

But her true treasure was not her beauty, but that black crown on her forehead, made from the bones of the martyrs and centered with a small silver skull. That jewel gave her the ability to control life and death, but it came at a great cost.

Lyssandra gradually lost interest in men, her kingdom, even for days. She was totally obsessed with her castle, as if it were her personal playground.
She would whisper her name into every nook and cranny, every work of art, every ancient stone. She poured her heart and soul into the whispers of Cael Umbra, and in an old-school ceremony, she merged her essence with the palace's core, becoming its queen forever.

She could not reign alone.

On a moonless night, she called all those who lived in their homes, from high to low, including the children, and bequeathed them all with the crown, one by one.

Each person collapsed, lifeless, and remained trapped in the room, the sound of an endless party bouncing off the walls. The castle echoes with hushed tones, heavy with sadness and regret.

They have this story that if you climb Cael Umbra when it's raining, you might catch a glimpse of a mysterious figure behind the shattered glass windows, with a vacant stare and time you might never return.