The Mourning Glory

The Evening Lady, the flower blooming just after death...

The Mourning Glory is an entity that Abiyr Arsolum has encountered several times after falling unconscious in battle and beginning to bleed out. After these encounters, he discovered that his warlock abilities come not from The Raven Queen, but from this entity. 
The Mourning Glory appears as a hooded, skull-faced woman with long wavy brown hair shot through with grey. Her hands and arms are gold-plated and skeletal. Black ichor continually pours out of her eyes, and she is often holding forget-me-nots or wearing a crown of them. Her robes are frayed and grey. 
The Mourning Glory seems to be linked somehow to the Raven Queen, but no literature mentioning her seems to exist. Abiyr had the following vision after being killed by Fane Gandred:

You find yourself in your own house; a place you have not returned to since the massacre of your village. You are in your bed, and at your bedside sits a hooded figure in tattered grey robes. You sit up, and immediately start: her hands, which lay in her lap, are completely skeletal. The delicate bones of her fingers are filigreed in rich gold, reflecting the warm firelight.
Worry not, a warm, but brittle voice comes into your head as the figure turns its head to you. You are under my protection.

After falling unconscious in battle, another vision:

Again you find yourself in your house, only this time you find yourself in your own battered rocking chair, the very same one your father held you in as an infant. Across from you sits the hooded figure in grey. Her gleaming, golden skeletal hands are deft as she weaves a wreath in her lap, laced with curious cornflower-blue flowers which you recognize: you had stumbled upon them once on a long mountain walk with Orhli, a mountain field that became a favored destination for the two of you. Your heart constricts in your chest as you remember proposing there for the first time and they laughed, because they thought you were joking.
The figure finishes, then stands and carries her handiwork over to you. You notice, for the first time, waves of greying brown hair that tumble out from the hood. You are more than a sword, for every spire has a shadow, the voice says in your mind. And you will bring the touch of the Evening Lady into the world once more.
With that, those skeletal hands reach over you and place the wreath upon your head, and for a split second you see the grinning skull staring out at you from the darkness of the hood.