As the Abyssal walked into the tomb, the moving portraits made her frown.  She didn't like the idea of being in such a place, not because it stank of death, but because the motion was too much like the prolonged continuance of life long past its end.  It felt unnatural to her, not like ghosts in the shadows of the Underworld as one would expect, but more like a horrid attempt to continue to maintain one's existence.<br/><br/>The thoughts didn't make a lot of sense, but the whispers only encouraged such a disturbed response from her.  She didn't want to have to continue to exist after she died again, not after her first death had showed her so much.  She wasn't in a hurry to die, but when she did, she wanted the sweet release of Oblivion instead of the continued leash of partial animation that such paintings suggested.<br/><br/>She continued on, the lack of movement of her lips not in any way preventing her from listening and sharing her feelings.  Perhaps others were more willing to keep going without laying down to rest.  After all, so many wanted to remain as ghosts, and so many more wanted to live.  That was the one thing that she still had trouble with: they wanted her to simply destroy everything, and she preferred to focus on specific targets.  Sometimes she wondered if she should simply listen and obey, but it wasn't something she could readily accept.  Even if she didn't feel any hope within her, she couldn't just abandon such vestiges so readily.