He stood the silent vigil his form stilled against the wall of the small tomb his eyes fixed to the sarcophagus in the blackness.. The soft light cast by the crimson glow reflected back at him from the smoothed surfaces on the stone..

She had stirred enough to drink.. though for long moment it had seemed he would fail then.. He had tasted true fear in that moment.. Fear that he had failed before even truly setting to task.. If she had died then, drained of life in his arms as if she was nothing more than passing meal.. What then.. as he had in the moment he felt the chill climb his spine the fear and uncertainty washing over him in cold waves.. He fought to push it down, to force his mind to focus on what lay before him.. She had died.. But she had stirred.. the first gate passed without incident..

Once again he found himself murmuring soft supplications to the one her Sire had called Sire.. what good it would do he could not help but wonder.. He recalled their words on the subject.. That he was little more than one so Ancient and powerful he seemed godlike.. Even absent any true divinity.. but even as he mused at the logic of that assessment he remembered her reverence.. Her certainty that he was more then them.. More then any.. Truly a God..

And so he continued his murmured prayers.. If the gesture was empty, at least it afforded him the feeling he was able to do -something-.. That was what tore at him the most, he had done all he could.. Aligned all as best he could and now it lay beyond his hold.. Beyond his control. All the plans all the intent all the wishes and hopes and dreams he may have deigned to let haunt him now sat stilled within the tomb before him..

And yet still even if she rose now, what was to say she would not follow in steps to madness as his own brother had, turned absent tradition and proper method.. by those who were worthy of bestowing such dark blessing.. Clearly he was not, clearly he was doomed to that same fa- NO. He forced the thoughts to silence, even as they threatened to consume him in rising torrent of fear..

He swallowed hard in the darkness, his eyes fixated on the tomb yet still.. His mind drifting back, remembering the night in life when his Father had stood vigil beside her.. even knowing then there was no chance she would rise.. His mind played on such times, on the times before he had stood watch.. Waiting even in this unlife beyond the traditions of those he was born to.. Guarding stilled form in hopes that Spirit might find their ancestors..

He had damned her from that path.. Whatever was to become of her.. Her Spirit as his, would never rest with the Ancestors.. and if he failed.. he would have doomed her for nothing.. for selfish dream, hope that she might offer something beyond slow and steady march into the blackness..

He shook his head, his whispered words the only sound in the Blackness, the old familiar supplication he had heard whispered a thousand times over other stilled forms..

‘Find her Worthy Father.. And let her Rise. ‘

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