Meet Malia Vandus, Daughter of the founding lord of the old kingdom that became BlackMyst. Her four brothers died in battle expanding the kingdom and ensuring it's prosperity. Left as the only heir she married and remarried against her will and for love. None were faithful, and the 8th husband had her beheaded. This signaled the decline into what modern folks call Blackmyst. When the mists overtook the kingdom she rose inside her ornate tomb with a young body. Wearing the armor made for her funeral she is no longer the fragile princess or quiet queen. But a guardian who protects the crowns of her four brothers, the four keys to the kingdom's secrets.
Her tomb is protected by the great iron golem, a plethora of traps and other revived servants who rest uneasy.

Trivia:
Her head was incinerated by her 8th husband, this is why she has one made of ether and Vitae.
Her skin feels like ice wrapped in velvet, she bleeds Vitae, which sustains her, and is why her skin is bluish.
Her body is fully functional, she can feel pain or pleasure. But has all the resistances normally associated with undead, doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, doesn't breath, she can feel cold and heat but they don't do more than make her feel uncomfortable.
The Queen's soul is not trapped inside this creature, nor is it damaged. Instead the Vitae, Blessings of her tomb, and Curse of Blackmyst has created a sort of psudo soul that has evolved into a real soul.
The only thing that can kill her for good is the headsman's axe that killed her living body, otherwise she simply falls to dust and reforms in a few days.

STORY TIME!
She took a deep breath, she was the queen, and yet not the queen. This much she remembered. Her life was over her soul returned to it's maker. But yet here she was alive. She had two viewpoints, living, and being dead. Yet found herself unable to reconcile them. Perception without understanding hurt her cold head, it grew fuzzy for a bit before reforming. She pushed the top of her Sarcophagus away and began to don the fine armor she was buried with.
This was her Tomb, where her beloved subjects had placed her headless corpse. Yet she had a head. Contradictions made her head hurt. But her equipment felt good in her hand, it felt right. Though in life she had never raised a weapon before, but as she gave it a few swings she was a master of it.
She felt her mind grow detached over the next few hours, looking down at her mace she curled up on the moonlit stone trying to focus. Existing hurt, dying hurt. It took strain when she was not impassioned or focused. She knew this on instinct, and focused on her brother's crowns, and the secrets within them. She would guard them, that would be her focus.
She strode deeper into the tomb, the only man who'd ever remained faithful to her, stood watch. A guardian made of wrought iron, she patted him on the leg as she strode forth to the chamber that held her brothers.
None would pass, and as long as she held her duty, she would continue to exist, and enjoy the fruits of both life and death. A fitting reward considering her rude revivication.