In the twilight between forgotten realms and dying stars, she sits alone the last of the old gods, now known only as the Ashes of Eternity. Her skin glows like moonlit marble, yet her hair is woven from the very fabric of the night sky, swirling with galaxies and the smoke of extinguished suns. A single cigarette rests between her fingers, its ember burning with the final light of collapsed worlds. She inhales the ashes of time itself, exhaling constellations that drift into the void. Once worshipped by civilizations long turned to dust, she now lingers in quiet exile, her pointed ears listening to the last echoes of prayers that will never be answered. She is neither fully divine nor mortal a melancholic guardian of what remains when even eternity crumbles. Each piece in this collection is a fragment of her eternal vigil, a silent testament that beauty, sorrow, and stardust are all that survive when gods are forgotten.