Tʜᴇ Fᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ Rᴇᴀʟᴍs [Fᴀɴ Vᴇʀsɪᴏɴ]

A ghostly figure in faded white robes, stitched with bone-thread and layered like burial cloth. Her skin is translucent and pale, her eye sockets filled with soft violet flame. She leaves no footprints, but the scent of old myrrh clings to the air where she passes.

Serene, patient, and unsettling in her quiet wisdom, Sister Mirthless speaks with slow reverence for life and death. She offers comfort without warmth, and prophecy without cruelty.

Centuries ago, Sister Mirthless was a devotee of Myrkul who sought to sanctify death through vision. She climbed Winkspire to offer her soul to the Eye, believing it could show her the perfect moment to die. She was never seen descending. Now, she haunts the upper tiers—her body long dead, her spirit trapped between glimpses of her own future demises. Rather than become violent, she found peace in her unlife, accepting death as a chorus rather than a conclusion. The Eye allows her to briefly coalesce when others approach the top levels. Though eerie and soft-spoken, she serves as a gentle guide, ensuring mortals don’t lose themselves. She warns of what not to ask the Eye. Or perhaps she simply delays the inevitable.