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Middle daughter of the now-defunct Barony of Cliffmore, Lady Umbroise found herself raised into the ranks of higher nobility during the Silent War when the terrible threats against the Compact culminated perfectly with a slow-built social seduction that the Cliffmore Voice had been masterminding for some time. Her new husband, some dowager lord of a ducal house, was one of many perspectives. He stood out little from the crowd, save for the grandeur of his birth when compared to the daughter of a baroness. The May-December match was side-eyed by some in the peerage, but it was admittedly during a time when passions were high and life expectancies were low. As it turns out, they were lower still for Umbroise's husband. The man would fall to his death from his bedroom balcony just a year later. He tragically slipped on an unattended fruit peel. Suffice to say, the stewards in attendance that day were given stern dressing down! This came as quite the shock to her ladyship, who multiple sources place far away from the scene... in the courtyard... enjoying a cup of tea. This proved very easy to confirm thanks in no small part to several references she made to the time of day which she helpfully repeated at no small inconvenience to herself for anybody who appeared otherwise uninformed. Her in-laws were never her greatest fans, nor she theirs. After her husband's passing, the family wasn't keen on keeping her. They couldn't blatantly cast her aside and hope to save face, but they could... return to sender? Or at the very least, the next best thing!

There is a calm composure about this woman that leaves her somewhat inscrutable. Unrecognizeble from the woman she used to be, the Lady of Frost and Spiders boasts a lush abundance of silvery white hair, arranged in gentle curls in perfect precision to spill down her back. Like mercurial frost, the tendrils are chill to the touch, yet remain soft and luxurious. Her eyes, too, have changed from black sapphire to a shade of frosty silver-white, her lashes and eyebrows also as ashen as the hoarfrost that coats the branches of the trees of the far frozen north. Her gaze is as cold as the Everwinter, lacking passion or zeal or emotion. To compliment her appearance, the Lady wears garments of silvery white with crystalline beads, glimmering like frozen teardrops, and matching jewelry.

A highly selective sycophant, Lady Umbroise Acheron's repertoire of catchphrases in agreement and unsolicited praise carry with them a fickle edge. She's a follower, alright... on her own terms. Once lost through acts of cruelty or repeated general tardiness, her good opinion is not easily reclaimed.