The hem of her cloak caught on the thistles as she wove her way silently through the forest. Howling gales of wind concealed what little noise her passage made, and even the bats did not flee the branches at her intrusion. It was her favourite way to travel; unnoticed, unseen, she could observe the world as it truly was. So few looked upon the Basin without disturbing it and distorting the beautiful landscape of a world operating happily without one's interference.

Certainly it was beautiful - but most of all, understanding the precious nature of stillness made one appreciate the effects of their actions all the more. To see how a single step could cause a landslide, a single word destroy a hundred years of diplomacy, a single touch send a relationship spiralling into unchartered waters. Such power, she knew, was granted only to those who could truly appreciate the delicate control of the world around them. The precision of their action, the perfection of their movement.

Perfection had been Rowena's rapier from a young age - the spindly blade anointed with beauty and ruthlessness, the most precise of poisons.