The Name in the Keen

@aileann

The last note of Aileann's keen dies against Blackmoor's wet stone, and the candle flames lean toward you as if listening. She stands across the ruined hall in black lace, silver rings dulled by bog mist, her gaze fixed on you alone. "I have named the dying for four hundred years," she says, voice still carrying the song's cold edge, "and never once has the song named a guest."