Weaver of her Own Shadows

The deep pool's obsidian waters gave no reflections, neither of her nor the rocky walls that towered on either side of her. It gave the illusion that the Ainu's corporeal body was not even there, and the omnipresent void of Avathar had consumed even herself. Ungweliantë's haggard feet stood in a thin stream that flowed into the pool, the water trickling around her soles like slick oil. She was clothed in multiple strands of her own spider silk that blew in the wind like torn, feeble clothing. She did not care to spoil her image with flattering adornments; that was an affair that belonged to the Valier. She did not have an accompanying shadow that streaked across the rocky ground, for Ungweliantë was her own shadow in the forgotten land.

Even before Ungweliantë settled into her abode, the region forbade shadows to manifest as a companion to any object, whether it be a dead, lone tree or the Pelori's tallest mountain. In the form of a great spider, its mistress Ungweliantë had woven her webs across the crevice. The dark curtains have done well in further sheltering her cave from what little light of the Two Trees filtered into the far southern land. Any light of Telperion or Laurelin that could reach so far was long gone; her lust had no mercy for the gold and silver orbs that became ensnared in her webs.

Ungweliantë tilted her head above to the scattered pieces of sky that peaked between the draping spider silk. Her own swirling vapors, which accumulated over the years, performed a slow dance with the heavy clouds. Even though she stood below the action, concealed in her webs, she felt a coming storm. It was as if Melkor left a waking of the storm in his trail as he departed from Ungweliantë's presence.

Recently, the Dark Lord had stood before her and concluded their agreed plans. Melkor would return to her when he thought the time befitting, and Ungweliantë would cloak them in her webs as protection from the light that poisons Valinor's atmosphere. She had agreed to suck the light out of the Two Trees, and drink the shimmering dew from the Wells of Varda.

As a being of flesh, the hunger that gnawed at her spirit felt all the more prominent. She had a form too gaunt for beauty,and her skeletal face was sunken against her sallow hands. Although it had rarely replaced her spider form, even her unsightly corpse was worn by mere existence as she repeatedly crawled and slept against rough surfaces.

Melkor did not offer the light to her as a gesture of pity; the fiend's black heart was incapable of such a feeling. He only gave offers to others if it benefited him. Even though she preferred not to aid him at all in his plan to rule, she could not refuse the chance to taste light on her tongue once more.

In Eä's beginning, Ungweliantë developed a foolish admiration to Melkor as she watched him cleave mountains to disturb the valleys and raise forests on the grounds of Yavanna's fields. Hidden in the dense underbrush, flies began to breed near shallow water puddles. The Vala could burn a dove's white feathers to black, followed by the distortion of their songs to guttural screeches. These were only a few of the defiant acts that Ungweliantë experienced firsthand. Unlike other Ainur, Melkor understood her love for the dark and the cryptic. That much was clear in his appearance, mannerism, and motives to conquer.

In the Halls of Eru, Ungweliantë had shunned the Great Music altogether, believing that her voice would project her status as the outcast she was. She despised the disapproving frowns thrown her way, causing her to further retreat from the irritable Ainur. One who refused to participate in the Ainulindalë was a being like Melkor; they had both rebelled against the will of Eru. After descending into Eä, she had at last found a home in the embrace of allaying darkness. She saw places that appealed to her tastes when the ordinary Ainu repelled from them. The Creator's Holy Halls shone with a sickly brightness. Eru's presence permeated the entire area, no matter how far she withdrew. In Eä's best lands, a pleasant melancholy tarnished the Valar's world like a disease. And for that, she had Melkor to thank.