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[folklorish]

[ Judging by the room's feminine decor, Nuada is not in his own suite. Blues and golds and pinks, close to the brilliance of an Irish sunset, line the walls and brighten the area around him. He is settled on the floor, legs stretched out in front, and back pressed against the side of a canopied bed. Pale fingers idly turn a shard over and over, as if the repetitive motion is capable of summoning its bearer back. ]

It is with much regret that I inform those who knew the princess, [ Nuada's voice is quiet, and as bleak as the black outfits he prefers. ] that my sister is no longer ... she is gone. My condolences to any who considered Nuala a friend.

[ He bows his head and switches off the feed. ]