I am the Mother of all things that matter. I am the sun and I am the stars. I am the earth and everything in between. My Eden still reigns over the land of Glorall, and I watch his every move in the shadows, ensuring nothing goes...unplanned to my boy. I do not interfere with his rule. He is mine- and he is a smart one. Of course. He is most worthy. Probably the most excellent of the males I have created. I have been pleased thus far.

That does not mean I completely sit back. I ensure that my son's borders are secure. On my grey paws I go forth. My gait is still excellent. I remain in health to be admired. I do not think much of my age. I do not look at myself often in the reflection of water, but I admit there is perhaps a bit more grey upon my dark face. Not that anyone would really notice. I am a thing to be marveled at. I am built to perfection, and I will not admit the...perhaps increased grind in my joints. It is nothing of importance, but I admit that age does creep onto me. I will not go as Heyel did. I will be more his glory has fallen, and how fast such a thing begins to disappear. Not with my line.

I know very well when the air of this land may be violated. I get a rush of wind and with it, scent. My intense orange eyes stare in the direction it came from. Faint, but there. Stranger. I go forth, head high for I am the Keeper of Glorall- and of all things, but Eden does not need to know that. I move with my natural grace and affinity for movement, until my eyes set upon the one whose scent violates close to the space of my sons' domain.

He is of an odd color. My initial reaction is not one particularly positive. Bright colors are not friends with shadows. I guess if you plan to murder in the sun. I stare at him with unmoving eyes of bright copper. He stares back at me with his eyes of yellow. I observe him carefully, taking in his figure. He appears my height, but too bulky. I search for threat in his eyes, not that it particularly matters. He dare not do a thing to incur my wrath. I traverse closer, the scars upon him show he certainly has fought. I give only the slightest tug of my lips in a smirk. His scars show his failure- but at least he likely didn't run with his tail between his legs. I know he was looking upon me, but I am a thing to be looked at. A wonder. I do not blame him. His expression pleases me, but I must first gauge his intent upon my son's land.

His words are odd. No one speaks to me like this upon a first contact. He is perhaps quite perceptive, but I will not be swayed easily with such words of flattery. My eyes narrow slightly, head lifting further as I stand tall and still now. Silence. I do not speak for many moments. It is my way, and he will wait as my eyes drill into him.

"It is what I am. Can one such as you achieve what is natural of I?" I inquire, my accent still thick in Latin, but sweet with a hint of nightshade.