She wore it, very literally, and as it draped at her throat, and pressed to her chest: It listened

It learned the very beat of her heart, the count between breaths and the exhales of firmness

It has become one with her very being, and as it changes hands and ownership it carries the echo of her soul, the Magick, the bond, the life

She, a quiet, haunting beauty that does not fade and thus her art and creations will never truly die or be at a loss

Within its tenderness, is veiled  shadows; grace edged with steel; fierceness that burns without light; and power

She is the risen queen of night, crowned in silence and storm, and before her, we do not simply stand: We kneel

For in her presence, there is trust, in her gaze, there is direction, and in her shadow: We remember what it is to revere this high priestess.