A broken Mirror​
Suliss'urn
Who is she?
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This is the question that she pretends does not exist. The question which her mind often asks her in a little voice, hunkered and cowering behind everything else in her addled head. This is the question that has plagued her, silently, as the spectre of her Matron mother cackles gleefully in Suliss'urns memory. Fat, wrinkled, and gloating on her spider-legged throne in Suliss' nightmares, watching as her daughters eat each other's hearts whole.

Who she once was no longer matters. This much she must know to be true in order to carry on into a future unending thanks to her elven blood. Though her name was once carried on worshiping tongues in the Underark, the house ghlyph worn on an amulet around her neck is now blank. As if waits for her to make a choice.
Who is she?

She is the spaces between. Between the skin and after teeth break through it. She is the sound of canines tearing flesh. She is the teeth. She is the nails that rake until the surface peels, bloody and shredded into a fine mist. She is the instinct that most cringe away from; she is that which most wish they could do when they must bite their tongue and smile and smile and pretend to be something else.
She is the violence beneath.
She is the animal.
She is the shar vith many have craved for so long, watching, waiting, wishing, hoping.
She is drow.
She is neither of these things and all of them. The sweetest poison many wish to capture, to drink until their tongues turn as black as her skin.
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Who is she?
She is Suliss'urn.