Ilaria had arrived at the clearing with Rhys' guidance, a pit of dread festered in the lavender elf's gut as they tread through the dewy foliage. They killed her. . . echoed in her head, the grieving words of that distraught priest who guided her now. The green of the wood unfurled into a crimson scene, framed by broken souls that mourned the loss of their Queen--who was now cradled in a bed of bloodstained flowers.
What chaos has been sowed this day?
"Sokar. . . take her gently into the Stream," Ilaria uttered in prayer beneath her breath as her hand grazed over her gleaming necklace of shells and beads. One fragment of solace could be obtained amidst this tragedy, and such was knowing that the Queen's fate would be a blessed one; graced by the light of the Skies. A rarity in her line of work. That is, of course, if she even welcomed the embrace of the Ending and didn't join the messy fate of countless others she was born to witness in stagnation.
As more filtered into those woodlands to mourn the Queen, Ilaria found herself lingering off to the side of the clearing; blended into the cool shade of the tall pines and within the ferns.
She witnessed her there. A regal woman, opposite of the clearing who lingered amongst the side of those mourning her passing. Grief nearly twisted in Ilaria's heart, though her worries were immediately transformed into consolation as Amaya's attention turned up toward the Heavens. It happened quicker than a blink. For she was gone before that lavender elf could even realize it; her fate was beyond the realm of mortals now. At peace in the Skies.