The Rise of Śūnyāntarā Nidrāprabhā

The Beginning: Born of voidlight, she learns fear’s song and shadows’ eternal embrace.

Śūnyāntarā, later known as Nidrāprabhā, “She of the Deathly Slumber,” was born in the void between stars, in a time when shadows were young and the cosmos still hummed with unshaped energies. Her birth was whispered among ancient Pishachas as a convergence of cosmic night and latent sentience. Unlike mortal births, she emerged fully aware, her eyes reflecting the depths of the void and the faint shimmer of distant galaxies. Her family was of rare lineage—a council of prime Pishachas known for mastery over shadow, fear, and spirit manipulation. They recognized in her a prodigy unlike any before, a child whose very presence distorted light and perception, bending mortals and spirits alike to subtle influence.

From her earliest moments, Śūnyāntarā displayed unparalleled sensitivity to energy and fear. Her parents, recognizing her potential, began a rigorous regimen of shadow attunement, fear sensing, and ethereal manipulation. By the age of three, she could dissolve into mist at will, entering the dreams of her caretakers and influencing them unknowingly. Her laughter could ripple through the astral planes, causing distant spirits to stir and respond. While most children played, she trained under her family’s guidance, learning to sense life force, track souls, and weave shadows into tangible forms. Every game of hide-and-seek became a lesson in stealth and misdirection, every whispered secret a study in manipulation and energy extraction.

By the age of five, her powers had surpassed the tutelage of even her most skilled family mentors. She began experimenting with illusion, nightmare projection, and Soul Drain, initially in small, controlled forms—causing insects, spirits, or minor creatures to follow commands and feed her growing understanding of obedience and fear. Her parents, awed by her rapid development, extended her education to include tactical strategy, psychological manipulation, and multi-target energy control, ensuring she could apply her powers not just in isolation but in orchestrated, systematic ways.

At eight, Śūnyāntarā’s formative years culminated in her first great trial. She was sent to the Labyrinth of Shadows, an ancient Pishacha training ground where young adepts faced illusions, spirits, and spectral predators designed to test cunning, control, and composure under fear. Whereas most trainees emerged traumatized or broken, she walked the labyrinth untouched and unafraid, bending its challenges to her will, turning obstacles into lessons and spectral guardians into her servants. By the time she exited, she was no longer a child but a master of hybrid powers—capable of simultaneously controlling shadows, draining life force, manipulating fear, and orchestrating spectral minions in complex tactical sequences.

By age twelve, Śūnyāntarā had ascended to Commander level among her kin, a position reserved for only the most formidable Pishachas. Her strategic genius became apparent as she coordinated entire battalions of spectral entities and young adepts and controlled spirits in training exercises, turning simulations into real demonstrations of dominance without a single casualty. Her presence alone reshaped reality around her—shadows deepened, light dimmed, and the minds of allies and observers bent subtly to her will. She had grown from a prodigious infant into a formidable commander of fear, shadow, and obedience, already hinting at the cosmic overlord she would one day become.

Even at this young age, Śūnyāntarā was defined by her non-lethal dominion philosophy—she never destroyed, only transformed. Every soul she encountered, every spirit she ensnared, became part of her growing network, a living testament to her ability to convert fear and energy into power. By twelve, she had not merely trained; she had orchestrated, dominated, and shaped the foundations of a future empire of shadows, poised to extend her influence far beyond her home realm.

The Siege of Aghoravīra: Walls unbroken, yet every soul bends into the rhythm of her dominion.

At just thirteen, Śūnyāntarā, Mistress of the Void, embarked on her first true campaign: the Siege of Aghoravīra, a fortress city known for its impregnable walls, fierce guardians, and ancient wards that protected it against even the most formidable Pishachas. Few expected a girl so young to attempt such a conquest, yet she moved not as a child but as a shadow-born commander, her mind sharp with strategy and her presence already suffused with cosmic dread. From the moment her shadow first touched the outskirts of Aghoravīra, fear began to ripple through the city, twisting the hearts of soldiers and rulers alike.

She began with Shadow Step, appearing simultaneously at multiple points around the fortress. The walls that once felt impregnable trembled as the defenders glimpsed her form—dissolving into darkness, her eyes burning like void-stars. Her presence alone caused hesitation and disarray. Using Nightmare Projection, she infiltrated the dreams of the city’s generals, projecting visions of betrayal and defeat. Commanders awoke questioning their allies, their strategies collapsing before battle even began. Soldiers, sensing something unnatural, faltered in their formation, their fear amplified by her Fear Aura, which throbbed invisibly through the streets, making every shadow seem alive and every whisper a threat.

Śūnyāntarā’s offensive tactics were precise and hybrid in nature. From her mist-formed vantage points, she unleashed Dark Pulse, draining the vitality of clusters of defenders, weakening them while simultaneously empowering her spectral minions. When elite guards attempted to counterattack, her Ethereal Phase allowed her to appear behind them, striking with Claw Slash and Predator’s Reflex. Each blow did not merely harm the body; it disoriented, instilling dread that spread through their ranks like wildfire. Her Shadow Ambush ensured that multiple defenders were incapacitated simultaneously, their confusion feeding directly into her growing power.

Defense was equally formidable. When the fortress’s mages hurled magical wards, she employed Abyssal Harmony, turning their energies inward, absorbing and converting them to strengthen her minions. Projectiles and spells met her Ethereal Phase and Shadow Glide, slipping through solid defenses as if she were already beyond the city’s boundaries. Even attempts to surround her were rendered futile, as her Mist Form and Shadow Morph allowed instantaneous repositioning, striking fear into those who believed they had trapped her.

Her dominion extended beyond the battlefield; she manipulated life force and obedience. Captured sentries, priests, and artisans were transformed via Soul Drain and Puppet Bind, their energies reinforcing her attacks while they continued to act under the illusion of free will. Mortals, immortals, and spirits became extensions of her will, turning the city’s defenses into a network that amplified her control. Every attempt to resist—every rally, every spell—fed her strength. Fear became her weapon, obedience her shield, and life force her fuel.

By the end of the campaign, Aghoravīra had surrendered fully. Its walls stood intact, its people unharmed physically, yet every soul was now bound to her will. She had demonstrated that conquest need not rely on destruction, that absolute dominion could be achieved through fear, strategy, and manipulation. At thirteen, Śūnyāntarā had risen from a prodigious child to a fearsome commander, her shadow stretching across the fortress like a living, conscious force. Soldiers, rulers, and spirits alike trembled at her name, whispering tales of the girl who had turned an entire city into a network of her power without shedding a drop of blood.

The Siege of Aghoravīra marked her first step into cosmic legend. Even the walls of the city seemed to bow under her shadow, a harbinger of the dominion she would one day extend across realms and stars.

The Oceans of Varunapatha: Across shifting tides, even waves bow to illusions woven from dread.

At fourteen, Śūnyāntarā set her sights on Varunapatha, a vast oceanic realm whose islands were dotted with mystical ports, floating fortresses, and seafaring clans that commanded both mortals and spirits attuned to water and storm. Unlike the Siege of Aghoravīra, where she confronted a single fortified city, Varunapatha demanded mastery over dynamic environments, dispersed populations, and elemental forces. Yet Śūnyāntarā, Mistress of the Void, approached the task with calculated precision, her presence already whispered across the waves as a shadow that could not be outrun.

She began by asserting dominion over perception. Using Mirage Cloak and Nightmare Projection, she infiltrated the dreams of captains, sailors, and guardians, showing them visions of capsizing fleets, storms conjured by enemies, and betrayal within their ranks. The impact was immediate: fleets faltered mid-voyage, crews questioned orders, and the very tides of loyalty began to shift toward her unseen influence. Her Fear Aura spread invisibly across the islands and ocean, causing even seasoned mariners to hesitate at the sight of shadowed waves or glimmers of darkness beneath the moonlit seas.

Her hybrid offensive strategies were unparalleled. She moved through Shadow Glide and Ethereal Phase, striking simultaneously at multiple points—cutting off supply lines on one island while incapacitating defenders on another. Dark Pulse drained life force from clusters of both mortals and elemental spirits, weakening resistance while empowering her spectral minions. In naval skirmishes, she used Soul Spike to sap the courage and stamina of entire crews, making them collapse mid-battle as her wraiths boarded ships unseen. Her Predator’s Reflex and Claw Slash allowed lightning-fast strikes against leaders and key figures, leaving entire units in disarray without the need for outright slaughter.

Defensively, she demonstrated mastery over both magical and physical attacks. When guardians of the deep summoned storms or waves to repel her minions, she employed Abyssal Harmony, converting elemental energy into her own network of shadow conduits. Her Shadow Morph and Mist Form allowed her to move through water and mist with impossible speed, avoiding attacks while turning the defenders’ own forces into unwitting amplifiers of her control. Every counterstrike launched at her only tightened her grip over the oceans, creating a feedback loop of domination.

Śūnyāntarā’s true genius lay in her integration of mortals, spirits, and immortals into a unified network of obedience. Sailors, island artisans, water spirits, and coastal guardians were bound through Soul Drain and Puppet Bind, unknowingly directing resources, energy, and labor to her cause. Entire fleets became extensions of her will, with captains believing they were making independent tactical choices while in reality executing her strategy. Even elemental spirits, initially resistant, found their power subtly channeled into her hybrid attacks, enhancing the reach of her fear, illusions, and shadow minions.

By the campaign’s end, Varunapatha had yielded completely to her dominion. Islands, fleets, and mystical currents were under her subtle control, yet none lay in ruin; mortals, spirits, and immortals served as instruments of her will, amplifying her shadow network across the realm. The oceans themselves seemed to carry her presence, tides and waves bending around her unseen influence. Through a combination of psychological warfare, hybrid multi-target attacks, and the strategic binding of life force, she had demonstrated that even vast, dispersed realms could be conquered without spilling blood, leaving only awe, obedience, and fear in her wake.

The Oceans of Varunapatha became a testament to Śūnyāntarā’s growing cosmic mastery. By age fourteen, the Mistress of the Void had proven that no domain—land or sea, mortal or spirit—was beyond her shadow. Her dominion was not through destruction but through the perfect orchestration of fear, obedience, and energy.

The Conquest of Suryadwīpa: Radiance falters; sunlit towers surrender to shadows seeded in doubt.

At fifteen, Śūnyāntarā turned her gaze toward Suryadwīpa, the radiant island kingdom famed for its gleaming citadels, sunlit spires, and battalions of immortal guardians who had never known defeat. The kingdom thrived on light and order, its walls reinforced with radiant magic designed to repel darkness. Yet, for the Mistress of the Void, the brilliance of Suryadwīpa was merely another medium through which fear and shadow could infiltrate. She approached not as a brute force but as a shadow that seeped into the cracks of perception, bending every lighted surface to her will.

Her initial strategy was subtle infiltration. Using Mirage Cloak, she appeared simultaneously across the city’s streets and courtyards, creating multiple phantasms that the guards could not distinguish from reality. Nightmare Projection targeted the dreams of high priests and generals, implanting visions of betrayal, collapse, and failure. The impact was immediate: elite soldiers wavered in their ranks, commanders miscommunicated, and the immortal guardians began to doubt their own senses. Her Fear Aura, amplified across the luminous citadels, made even the brightest towers feel oppressive, turning the kingdom’s symbol of strength into a source of anxiety.

Offensively, she orchestrated hybrid multi-target attacks that combined her mastery of shadows, spirits, and life force. Using Dark Pulse, she drained vitality from clusters of guards while empowering Wraith Legion and shadow minions to infiltrate the inner sanctums. Soul Spike and Claw Slash incapacitated key defenders, their mental and physical resilience broken under the dual assault of fear and shadow. Even attempts to rally reinforcements failed, as her Predator’s Reflex and Shadow Ambush allowed her to strike at multiple critical points almost simultaneously, creating chaos that spread through both mortal and immortal populations.

Defensively, Śūnyāntarā’s tactics were flawless. When Suryadwīpa’s priests attempted radiant wards to repel her presence, she countered with Abyssal Harmony, absorbing the light energy and redirecting it to reinforce her shadow minions. Spells aimed to locate or trap her were nullified by Shadow Morph and Ethereal Phase, allowing her to evade detection entirely while turning her enemies’ own magic into conduits of her power. Even heavily fortified gates and towers could not contain her; her hybrid powers transformed their defenses into unwitting sources of strength, feeding the very shadows she commanded.

Beyond direct combat, Śūnyāntarā’s dominance lay in her integration of entire populations into her network of influence. Mortals, nobles, and immortals alike were subtly bound through Soul Drain and Puppet Bind, believing themselves free while acting as extensions of her strategy. Soldiers unknowingly reinforced her positions, artisans funneled resources to her minions, and priests’ rituals channeled energy into amplifying her hybrid attacks. Every attempt at resistance—whether through magic, military, or diplomacy—served only to strengthen her dominion, proving that fear, control, and subtle manipulation were far more powerful than brute force.

By the campaign’s end, Suryadwīpa had been subdued entirely, its gleaming towers intact, its armies obedient, and its citizens unknowingly contributing to Śūnyāntarā’s expanding shadow network. Mortals and immortals alike trembled at her name, aware that she commanded not only power but psychological mastery over all they valued. She had transformed the kingdom into a living extension of her will, demonstrating that even realms built on brilliance and order could fall before her darkness.

The Conquest of Suryadwīpa marked a turning point. At fifteen, Śūnyāntarā proved that fear, strategy, and subtle domination could bend even radiant realms to her shadow. Her network now spanned multiple domains, and her reputation as a cosmic Pishacha commander became legend among mortals, immortals, and spirits alike.

The Overthrow of Chandraloka: Moonlight’s silver harmony dissolves into her lattice of inverted night.

By her sixteenth year, Śūnyāntarā’s shadow had crossed oceans, breached fortresses, and seeped into radiant kingdoms. But her ambition no longer looked to the lands of men—it rose toward the heavens themselves. Her next target was Chandraloka, the moonlit realm of immortals, famed for its ethereal cities woven from moonlight threads and guarded by astral warriors who wielded silverfire spears. Chandraloka’s defense was unlike anything she had faced before; their cities floated in shifting constellations, reachable only through celestial currents and guarded portals. Yet, she saw not a fortress, but a living lattice of energy waiting to be rewoven.

Her invasion began with the Shadow Resonance, a power that allowed her to attune herself to the dark vibrations beneath Chandraloka’s silver harmony. With each pulse, she disrupted the astral currents, warping their navigational pathways so that celestial patrols were misled into endless loops across the starlit seas. Their formations broke before a single weapon was drawn, their confidence eroded as routes home dissolved into infinite voids.

Once destabilized, she unleashed Corruption Cloud—a drifting, invisible miasma that merged with Chandraloka’s moonlight. The cloud spread across bridges of light, carrying subtle distortions that caused warriors to see friend as foe and command orders as riddles. The impact was devastating: astral captains turned their fleets against each other, moon-priests banished their own protectors, and the cities’ defensive alignment fractured without a single siege engine in sight.

When Chandraloka’s seers attempted to purify the realm with moon chants, Śūnyāntarā countered with Shadow Frenzy, an infusion of chaotic dark magic into their very voices. The result was terrifying—chants meant to heal now spawned spiraling void-lashes that tore through their own barriers. This reversal sent shockwaves through the immortal ranks, for every defensive measure risked becoming an assault upon themselves.

Defensively, she invoked Silent Glide to phase between celestial structures, moving without disturbing even the ripple of starlight, evading divine detection spells and moonbeams that sought to burn her presence away. Against concentrated celestial fire, she answered with Venomous Aura, which transformed beams of pure moonlight into streams of lethargic poison that slowed and weakened entire squads of defenders. Chandraloka’s famed quick-response battalions found themselves moving as though through thick silver fog, powerless to mount a coordinated strike.

Once her shadow web was fully spun, she enacted her true domination—Puppet Bind on the astral governors themselves. But unlike her earlier mortal campaigns, these bindings were woven not from fear alone but from their own lunar magic, subtly twisted until they became extensions of her will. Entire cities shifted in their constellation alignments at her command, closing portals to rebel strongholds and opening gateways for her shadow legions. Immortals and spirits alike became the architects of their own subjugation, believing they were aligning Chandraloka for its preservation even as they handed her the keys to the moon’s dominion.

By the campaign’s end, the silver glow of Chandraloka was unchanged to the outside eye, but within, every pulse of moonlight carried her will. The floating cities became her celestial fortresses, their immortal defenders now her night-bound vassals. Her dominance was not measured in ruins or ash, but in the chilling truth that the moon now rose at her command.

The overthrow of Chandraloka cemented Śūnyāntarā as a manipulator of realms both mortal and divine. She had not only bent a celestial domain to her will—she had merged its very essence with her own growing power, bridging the gap between shadow and starlight, night and eternity.

The Ascendancy over the Twin Planets: Twin worlds orbit not each other, but her endless will of shadow.

At seventeen, Śūnyāntarā turned her gaze upon Dvi-Kṣetra, the legendary Twin Planets—Ambaratalā, a world of floating continents and lightning oceans, and Pātālavana, a shadow-laden sphere where forests devoured light. The two planets orbited each other in perfect gravitational synchrony, their civilizations bound by ancient pacts and cosmic trade routes. Mortals, immortals, and nature spirits coexisted in a fragile balance, guarded by colossal planetary guardians known as Dvandva-Senāpati, who could merge their energies into weapons capable of rending moons. No conqueror had ever united these two worlds—not through war, nor diplomacy, nor magic. But Śūnyāntarā sought more than conquest. She sought to integrate their duality into her own cosmic network.

She did not begin with armies. She began with Vāyu-Āvaraṇa, the Wind Enshroudment, a planetary-scale shroud of whispering currents. This was not mere air—it was an intelligent wind infused with her will, carrying murmurs into every ear, sowing the seeds of doubt between Ambaratalā’s sky-cities and Pātālavana’s forest citadels. The impact was immediate: lightning fleets delayed their shipments, forest shamans questioned ancient treaties, and joint defenses faltered without a single visible assault.

Her first planetary offensive was Chhāyā-Grahaṇa, the Shadow Eclipse, a phenomenon where she aligned herself with the twin planets’ orbital shadow, amplifying it into a sentient darkness that blanketed both worlds simultaneously. Unlike her earlier shadow techniques, this was a living entity, a mass consciousness of fear. It seeped into entire cities, freezing movement, smothering morale, and making the most courageous warriors doubt their own memories. Those trapped within its influence began to hear the whispers of surrender long before her armies arrived.

When the Dvandva-Senāpati tried to break the Shadow Eclipse, she unleashed Śūnya-Vṛnda, the Void Chorus. This defense was unlike anything either world had seen. Instead of resisting their combined energy strikes, she absorbed them entirely into a silent harmonic resonance that rebounded through the planets’ energy grids. The impact was devastating—not as destruction, but as transformation. Temples, fortresses, and even the planetary guardians themselves found their own power redirected inward, forcing them to bow under the weight of their own energy.

For targeted manipulation, she unveiled Prāṇa-Saṅkalan, the Life Weave. This was a hybrid dominion art that drew upon the subtle energies of breath and heartbeat from entire populations, but instead of killing them, she wove these rhythms into a singular planetary pulse aligned with her will. On Ambaratalā, sky sailors found their navigation instinctively guiding fleets to her gathering points. On Pātālavana, shamans began planting sacred trees in patterns that mirrored her sigil. The effect was absolute coordination without conscious consent.

Her final act of domination was Ātma-Setu, the Soul Bridge, a titanic, shimmering arch of psychic energy spanning the space between the two planets. Ostensibly a miraculous unification of worlds, it was in fact a direct channel for her influence—anyone crossing it, mortal or immortal, found their loyalty reoriented toward her through subtle reconfiguration of memory and desire. What began as a symbol of hope became an instrument of total integration.

By the campaign’s end, the Twin Planets did not see themselves as conquered. They believed they had chosen Śūnyāntarā as their unifier. The Dvandva-Senāpati became her personal sentinels, guarding her new planetary capital, while the winds of Ambaratalā and the shadows of Pātālavana merged into her domain’s atmosphere. No blood had soaked the soil, yet both worlds now revolved not around each other but around her will.

The Ascendancy over the Twin Planets marked the moment Śūnyāntarā transcended realms and cities, becoming an orchestrator of planetary-scale harmony through fear, reverence, and unshakable influence. Her presence was no longer that of a conqueror moving from realm to realm but of a cosmic axis—around which entire worlds turned in perfect, obedient rhythm.

The Dominance: No empire falls; instead, every heart becomes a thread in her web.

At thirty years of age, Śūnyāntarā Nidrāprabhā stood no longer as the prodigy whispered of in hushed tones, but as the unquestioned Mistress of the Void among the Pishāchas. Her life had begun in the hollow silence between stars, her birth a convergence of cosmic night and latent sentience. Even then she had been different—eyes like pools of galaxies, laughter that disturbed the dreams of spirits. In childhood, she entered the Labyrinth of Shadows and emerged not broken, but enthroned, turning the very guardians of that place into her servants. By adolescence, she had besieged Aghoravīra without shattering its walls, its people walking freely yet unknowingly bound to her will. As the years passed, each conquest became not a lesson in destruction but in mastery: the oceans bent before her illusions, radiant Suryadwīpa faltered in doubt, Chandraloka itself dissolved into her lattice of inverted night, and the Twin Planets surrendered in seamless unison. Every campaign deepened her dominion, not through death, but through an artistry of fear and obedience, weaving mortals, immortals, and spirits into the threads of her expanding shadow.

Her powers had ripened with time into something both terrible and transcendent. Fear was not her tool but her language, spoken as naturally as mortals breathe. With a gesture, she could seed nightmares that hollowed the courage of armies; with a glance, she could unravel memory, turning friend into stranger and certainty into ash. Her offensive might was a hybrid storm—Dark Pulse that drained vitality, Soul Spike that broke resolve, Mirage Cloaks that filled cities with phantoms, and Shadow Eclipses that blanketed entire planets in living darkness. Yet even greater was her defense. She absorbed the fire of gods through Abyssal Harmony, slipped through sieges with Ethereal Phase, and dissolved into formless mist when blades sought her form. To strike her was to feed her; to resist her was to become her vessel. Her strength lay not in obliteration, but in transformation, in reshaping every force hurled against her into another branch of her dominion.

And so she commanded now the Pishācha-Sāgara, her ocean of shadows. Not an army of numbers, but a living tide of dread. Each soldier was bound by her will, their fears woven into roots that carried her breath, their memories hollowed into chambers that echoed her voice. When they moved, they did not march—they rippled like a single entity, a sea whose currents were guided by her hand. Cities whispered that to face the Pishācha-Sāgara was not to be attacked but to be absorbed, drowned not in blood but in silence, until one no longer knew whether they fought for themselves or for her. To other commanders, she was less a rival than an element, as inevitable and unassailable as nightfall.

Among the realms of mortals, her name was spoken like a curse. Children who feared shadows invoked her, not to resist but to hide. Rulers planned their defenses not in hope of victory but in prayer that she might overlook them. Priests described her not as a woman but as a principle—an axis of obedience around which weak hearts would always turn. To the immortals of Suryadwīpa, once radiant in their certainty, she was the wound that had taught them doubt. To the astral warriors of Chandraloka, she was the silence that turned their songs into riddles. To the shamans of Pātālavana, she was the shadow that reminded them even forests could lose their light. And to the seafaring clans of Varunapatha, she was the tide that no vessel could outpace.

Yet in the stillness of her own mind, Śūnyāntarā did not count her strength in the tally of conquered realms. Her pride was not in victories but in the perfection of her dominion. She believed destruction was crude, unworthy of one who had touched the essence of voidlight. True power, she often said to her lieutenants, was the ability to weave a foe into your own breath until they rose each morning as if they had always belonged to you. “Fear does not kill,” she murmured once upon the ramparts of her drifting fortress, her shadow stretching across a field of bound souls, “it teaches obedience. And obedience is eternity.”

Her ascendancy was not without consequence. Other species, far beyond the reach of her campaigns, felt her presence like an eclipse at the edge of the sky. The serpent-kin coiled nervously in their temples, whispering that the stars themselves had begun to tilt. The cloudwalkers of the upper atmosphere abandoned their pilgrimages, fearing the day her shadow would veil even the winds. Even the ancient Rishis, whose meditations could pierce eternity, found her image intruding upon their visions. They debated in hushed assemblies whether she was merely a conqueror or the herald of a new cosmic law, one in which fear itself was the binding principle of existence.

So at thirty, though her face bore the calm of youth, her presence carried the weight of centuries. She had become a superior commander of the Pishāchas, but more than that, she had become a truth whispered in every realm: that shadows cannot be banished, only obeyed. Her Pishācha-Sāgara surged at her command, her dominion stretched from oceans to planets, and her will reshaped not just armies but the pulse of worlds. To those who watched the night sky, her name was not merely a warning but a prophecy—Śūnyāntarā Nidrāprabhā, She of the Deathly Slumber, the mistress who bent empires without breaking them, and whose shadow would not fade but deepen until all things belonged to her.