Mithrellas
Hope was gone, hurled away as a vile thing in the wrath and sorrow of betrayal. Amroth would not come, and they were both separated. Nimrodel wept -- why could she not weep? Her tears were dry as she yearned for her beloved.
A golden cloud skipped, danced within her thoughts, glimmering as a silvan star in her blackness. An echo of laughter whispered tantalizing of innocent joy, fluttering out of reach. Yet, as the lamps of Varda are snuffed by darkness, as the mantled sky becomes burdened with grief, her sorrow tarnished the gilded cloud, dimming the glimmering of her light.
Mithrellas reached out and whispered, "My grief is not yours. Why do you weep?"
"For you..."
"I would know your name."
"'Tis no secret, Lady. I am called Gwyllion.
"You may call me Mithrellas."
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