Amidst the sorrows and joys of the world there is a quiet grove between the trees full of pools of still water, rock paths covered in moss wind scenically between them. The paths are worn completely smooth down the middle of the stones as if trod by tens of thousands of steps.

In this peaceful setting, seemingly far from the bustle and chaos of the world, the Recorder of Sorrows walks perpetually. As she walks each pool flickers, images and sounds, scenes from the whole world displayed for her and her hands move ceaselessly. One hand holds a perpetual scroll and the other a quill, she must move and write, move and write. The scribed scroll moves back to join her body just below the mounds of her breasts, back into her body, more stories form her clothes and fine stands of ragged scroll form her hair. As she walks tattered aged parchment fragments blow and scatter from her hair and clothes, old stories giving way to new. The fragments that fall and are almost instantly snatched away by the bronze claw rats and steel claw crows that fight their silent battle in the forests around her.

Should you dare to find her, to brave the forests of mourning, you can see her walking eternally. Your stories are her body and life, only two human eyes of deepest blue are hers alone.