![[Nys.png]] ^[Illustrated by [[Aerbeald Rewis]]] The few that have seen Nys say she stands robed in a dark flowing robe, her form a silhouette of void, crowned in iron thorns, face hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask. She apparently doee Nys is not death. She is what _follows_ death. Memory without anchor. Love unreturned. She is the queen of what remains _after_, and she rules not with cruelty, but with gravity. Ghosts cluster in her wake not as minions, but as mourners. Some call her a goddess of the undead. I disagree. She is a goddess of what the undead carry — regret, remembrance, and the brittle hope that someone, somewhere, might still remember their name. In her domain, nothing is loud, and everything lingers.