The Lady was betrayed. Tricked and seduced by the darkness, the Corrupt
One imprisoned the Lady in lifeless, impenetrable stone. Blackness
closed around Her, sealing Her influence from the mortal realm.

The first day was one of patience. Stone was naught but stone, yet as
the Lady's hand turn, nothing grew; as the Lady sang out, no one heard.

The second day was one of rage, yet no amount of force or will would
cause the walls to crack.

The third day was one of despair. Abandoned by Her siblings, She could
not feel Their presence. Betrayed by Her Sister, Her heart began to lose
hope. Deaf to the songs of Her followers, Her influence on the land
slipped and faltered. As She wept, Her followers became nothing more
then fluttering moths attempting to brave a hailstorm.

As She wept, She began to forget. Tears eased into slumber, days eased
into years, and the Lady was nothing more then a shadow. Hearing naught
but silence, seeing naught but darkness, the Lady lost the memories of
raging snow, blossoming flowers, the heat of summer and the ample
harvest of autumn. The Lady forgot the dawn, the morning, the afternoon
and the night. The Lady forgot Birth, Life and Death.

One day, the Lady was stirred from Her sleep. The ever present silence
that had been Her constant companion for eons had been disrupted by a
distant choir of voices. The hall around Her began to rumble as
vibrations traveled down the roots of a tree who had reached too deep,
gently brushing the outside of Her prison. As the voices grew in
strength and number, and the Lady opened Her eyes. The Life Singers were
singing, though to what purpose She did not know. The Lady heard, and
She remembered.

With Her fingers, She reached into Her heart, and produced a single,
tiny seed. She looked down at Her creation and smiled, and the Lady had
Hope.

There was no soil for the seed to take root in. The Lady pondered, and
then placed the seed onto the lifeless stone at Her feet. She cut Her
hair, and buried the seed within Her rich tresses. The seed took root.

There was no water for the seed to drink. The Lady pondered, then knelt
before the seed and wept. From Her tears, the seed drank, and began to
sprout.

There was no sun for the seed to bask under. The Lady pondered, then
stood before the seed and raised her hands. The Lady sang of the sun,
and the seed grew.

The seed was slow to grow, but the Lady did not falter. She cut her
hair, wept, and sang, and the tree blossomed.

Soon, instead of a stone prison, the Lady lived in a garden, smaller
plants growing around the base of the tree, as the branches reached
upwards towards the stone ceiling. The first spring soon eased into
summer, as the Lady sang louder and wept less, then into Autumn, when
the Lady's song faltered and Her tears turned cold.

As the Lady cried, she mourned the loss of her touch on her first
creation. She mourned for Her children wandering the world without any
knowledge of Her, and what gift She had given them. Her sobs drowned out
the sound of an approach, yet a gentle touch on Her shoulder rose Her
from her weeping.

The face She saw was not one She had ever seen, but one She had always
known.

Why are you crying? The Bright one asked.

I weep because no part of me, or very little, is left in the realm of
the mortals, The Lady responded.

I will take back this small portion of you. The Bright one said and
leaned down to cup a single tear. The Lady watched as the Bright one
disappeared, and She smiled. The Lady knew that the path She walked now
was different from that of Her Sister, but was empowered with new vigour
to break free.

As winter came, the Lady watched Her tree slumber and thought.

Stone and earth are simply the medium by which life may flourish, so
with the strength of Her song, stone and earth will always falter. True
strength is found in birth, in the ability to grow anew.

But her stone walls were thick, much too thick. Her Tree could not break
free without more help.

What am I willing to give? The Lady thought. What sacrifice is worth
giving My influence back to My children?

The Lady looked upon her tree and understood. Reaching up, She climbed
into its branches and took hold.

You, My second Onimah, will bear witness to Who I was. She spoke aloud,
as Her hands and feet began to melt into the bark, infusing the tree
with the last of Her essence.

The rage of winter ceased, the ice cracked, and empowered by the last
Hope of Renewal, the tree grew.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Arios, in the year 210 MA.