#zepowderroom

dO IT

(I’m just saying I will be giving my own interpretation, and not a copy or yours, okay? I kinda picture her more like a fairy tale princess, very sweet, but sad as well.;))

Silence reigned in Mandos’ halls. It was not a dreadful silence, filled with terror and fear - nor was it a calm before the storm, a breathless waiting until the lightning was struck. Nay, the dark halls were one of peace, and the silence was calm as well, covering the palace as a thick, peaceful cloak, only occasionally rippled by a whisper, or a half-forgotten song of one of the souls.

However, in one of the lighter rooms of the palace of the dead, closer to the stars and the winds and the rain, another sound mingled itself with the silence, without disturbing it - the sound of silken threads and the soft ticking of the weaving loom, and every now and then, a murmured melody that arose from fair, full lips of the one who was weaving. Vairë, the elves called her, or sometimes Gwîr - but in the palace, she needed no name. The dead did not care about these fleeting things.

-has never seen a red panda before- 

My lady,

If you are reading this, then an ill fate indeed has fallen upon me. I trust that I shall rest in Námo's halls, and eventually that I shall once again walk under the sun.

I shall see you soon,

Tell me about the horrible economy