Far to the west, in the Land of Darkness, whence come all Grimm, there lives a witch.
She is not lonely, for loneliness implies a desire for company. She is not bored, for boredom implies a lack of pain. She is not afraid, for what is left for her to fear?
She was human once, or something like it. A scholar, a heroine, a queen. No longer. Once bereaved, twice cursed, thrice betrayed; now she is something else entirely. She finds no solace in solitude, for all that she seeks it.
And yet, there is a kind of serenity in the darkness at the edge of the world, alone with the monsters and the moon. Sometimes, she imagines, it is almost like death.
Evernight is neither restful nor peaceful, but it is hers. And there is always work to be done.
After all, the world won't end itself.