Her loneliness was eternal, that is what Priscilla had surmised long ago as she stood within the ruined tower of the Painted World.

Her height eclipsed that of three Humans, fur covering her form with scales on her beautiful face.

A scythe was gripped firmly in her hand as she waited for the next Undead to arrive, she sensed their approach.

And then ... they arrived, and Priscilla withheld a tired sigh before asking a question as she had done for all the others.

"What dost thou seek here?"