Winter 2030 (fixed time) cottage in Northern Germany

The small cottage was lost in a tangle of woods and thicket. Enchantments, both dark and legal shrouded the simple hovel to make it look abandoned and derelict...but they were hardly needed. Even without the spells, the house was but a shell that matched well with its lonely inhabitant.

Power. For it men died, were killed and ruined. It went beyond riches...beyond knowledge. For it was the gatherings of both before mentioned. With power, one had all. All in one...
But in the pursuit of power, one must sacrifice one of two things, both with great cost. Either your life or someone else's. After all, men do achieve great power by sacrificing themselves...to moral and holy endeavors with which they are then forced to suffer under. Nailed to their crosses by their righteous deeds, they are the truly powerful. But sadly, they are the few sacrificial ones.

She sits alone in the house, her hands still and pale on the slender thorn that once held her power. Now the power is within her and yet she still keeps the empty tomb of it. Occasionally she attempts to throw it away, but is then forever bent in finding it, bringing it back so that her slender fingers can trace its faded self.

Although she spends great time in the hovel, she does not live there. At times, she desired to, but she has not the courage, even with Death's great power to live alone. In the darkness of winter she comes, hidden from the eyes and cruel thoughts of the world. Misunderstood? No...that is not she. Her deeds and power is such that it cannot be misunderstood. She embraced Death's powers and no longer hides it. She became the shadow that fate made for her.

But... she does not repent. Although she longs at times to return to the gentle woman of her past...she cannot bear to separate herself from her shackles. A prisoner of her own choosing...a wraith of her own design.

At home...her husband no doubts worries about her. Her children play in silence, wondering if their distant mother will return to send them to bed...and if they shall hear their father's soft sobs as he begs their mother to give up Excessum. They are too familiar with the latin word... having known it since their first hearing. And yet, she remains in the hovel, head bowed over the table.

A soft tap on the door does not disturb her and she ignores it, knowing who it is and not wanting to speak to him. He is as a light in the darkness...she the slumbering maid un-wanting to rise and greet the morn.
"Eglantine?" the deep voice, soft with concern asks. Her power, with ease, opens the door for him. She cannot ignore him for long without self-loathing.

"What is it, Horatio?" she asks, rising from her seat of ash. The seat fades away and she turned to pin him with greying darts. He remembers how lovely her green eyes once were...and must remember to not think of things such as these. Since she sees his thoughts. Excessum had given her another beauty... one that was breathlessly beautiful and yet it was dark and sinister. No one could look on her and not believe she was ravishing. Death always had an agony, both beautiful and dark about it...

"Will you not return?" he asked, finally after a moment. The woman before him did not make any motion to have heard him. But he knew that she had... And when she didn't answer... he knew she had.

Leaving softly, he closed the door. Some men evaded Death...He wanted nothing more than to embrace it himself...