lieve'tel dusk —「d6. fin.」cbd 2

Most people that she has met give her such lovely compliments.

Her favorite ones?

That she has the pallor of a corpse. That her scent reminds them of embalming potions. That her face is as kempt and delicate as a doll’s. That her house always looks like it’s ready for a funeral.

Lieve’tel comes from a long procession of women who knew Death as closely as they did the ridges between their fingers, women that were often ... misunderstood, cast aside, all until the bodies started piling, from plague or war, and they needed to be laid out. Men made the bodies, but it was them, the strangely women, who were left alone with them. There were so many unsung secrets of the dead she has learnt, so many ways to dress a corpse up, but such secrets are not hers to share. If one wishes to see them, though, all they would have to do was, well, die.

Die, and let the grave mystic perform her rituals on your corpse.