She made a terrifying, dreadful picture if you weren’t prepared for her—thin gray skin pulled taut over sharp, protruding bones, looming so tall she had to duck to avoid her own hanging decor. Her lanky black hair dripped with dark water, leaving trails of it mucked across her skin like rivers cut across a map, and she breathed so rarely that if not for her jewel-green eyes blinking slowly at us, I might have thought her dead. Or…more dead. I didn’t care much for most undead species, but rusalki like Ambra were rarely malevolent towards anyone who didn’t deserve their ire. They were isolated
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