but you can’t even keep your skirts down long enough to listen.
Youch! And how many skanks have you lifted the skirts of daddy?

He has been sent away and banished from the House of Dementia
In how many pieces I wonder?

Now that was quite the bombshell that Syl's father dropped! Not exactly a surprise, as it was obviously what Alanwen had intended all along. But it is still as devastating as one of her father's physical blows. Syl reacted with the rage I expected, given the circumstances. Too bad she was not able to finish the job on Alanwen before her father got there.

As the title said, now Syl finally has her freedom. But purchased with much pain. I have no doubt that this is not over though. Removing Syl from the palace was an error that I suspect will prove fatal for both her father, and Alanwen. For now Syl will have the opportunity to engineer her revenge upon both. Which I hope will be bloody and final. I am sure it will take a while for her to get there, but it seems as inevitable as the sun rising.



nits:
I wanted to slit her from ear to ear
Did you perhaps mean slit her throat from ear to ear?

Yes, Syl has finally gotten her wish of freedom, and I for one am glad it came at the price of the loss of her father. If he was willing to choose a morally ambiguous harlot over his own daughter, then if he were my father, I would have nothing more to say to him. A good father always respects the wishes of his kin, and it is obvious Syl's does not. When Syl likened herself to a pet bird, she hit the nail right on the head.

I get the feeling that the next time Syl meets her father, it will be with cold vengeance in her heart.

In the meantime, I look forward to seeing just how much Syl enjoys (or doesn't) her new life outside the palace, as fallen royalty. She had better buckle down, though, because if there is one thing palace life can do to you, it is shelter one from the true evils of life. Syl has only had one experience with such people, but now she must learn to live among them after nearly two decades of protection by her blood status. Mistakes are going to be made; that much is certain at this point. Let's hope they aren't too bad, I don't want to see Syl get hurt.

I find it hard not to feel Syl's father set this up between the two of them - allowing them to go on a two-day hunting trip together where they will be in the same tent? How could he possibly be mad if they did something when he all but threw them together in an intimate setting? He couldn't have expected anything less than her deflowering (had she still been a flower).

Sindorin is acting oddly skittish, too. Why would he be hesitant to ask the father's permission for marriage rather than make it appear like he is just toying with the Duke's daughter's goodies and has no intentions beyond that? It seems the father would be much happier to learn Sindorin wants to marry her than just roll her in a tent.

You have quite a mystery going on in these relationships, intriguing bits of information that reveal tantalizing glimpses but the undertones promise a bigger story than we are seeing - can't wait to find out more !!!! Awesome Write !!!!!

The first scene was both powerful and poignant.

Syl's imprisonment in her room and seeking comfort through cutting herself is actually fully understandable - testimony to how well you have developed her for us.

'Suddenly I felt as if a wall had tumbled down upon me. The news hit me like a bolt of lightning, and I was stunned. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to slit her throat from ear to ear. She was going to take my Ada away, just as she had been planning ever since she killed my mother. But I was not going to let her. Somehow I had to stop it.'
Syl has a reaction here that is very true to her nature as you have shown us. The violence that followed also seemed somehow perfectly fitting for Syl.

“Get out of my House,” he said, gritting his teeth just to keep from hitting me. “You are not welcome here any longer!”
At this news, I actually found myself saying, "Yes, freedom for Syl at last!" Alas, I see Syl does not feel that way, and again, you make her thinking so very in keeping with her nature, for I overlooked that she does indeed still love her father:
'I let her lead me out, but I felt numb and betrayed. I thought my life was over that day, and a part of it was. I was no longer Ada’s faerie princess anymore. Alanwen had finally won. He was all hers.'

Clearly, this marks a significant turning point for Syl.

SubRosa:Thanks for pointing out that I left out "throat" in that sentence, lol. Sometimes I think faster than I can type...or is it the other way around?

TK:Aww, I'm so glad I've managed to make you care about Syl! It's what I was hoping to do, and that you express your hopes for her not to get hurt is quite touching!

As you said, it seems more than likely that she will end up getting hurt, but suffering has its purpose in life, after all--we can learn from it.

mALX:Actually, they were supposed to be in separate tents... However, it would seem the Duke ought to have known better. Glad you're still hanging in for more! Yay!!

Acadian:Thank you very much, sir! *bows respectfully* I am thrilled to know that my writing is doing that which I was hoping it would do--yours and...all the other comments are certainly testimony that I should indeed continue writing--not just for my own sake, but to add enjoyment and (hopefully, ultimately) learning through an activity that I fear is slowly dying--reading. But still, I feel so inferior to all of you, who are such skilled writers--so to hear you all encourage and praise my writing...I am left speechless, and all I can say is, again, thank you all!



Chapter 7.1—Exiled

Sindorin threw his arms around me the moment he saw me follow Muurine into the house in Crucible that day. “Syl! I cannot believe you are here! How did you get your father to let you come?” When he looked at me again, he saw that I had been crying, and then he noticed the somber expressions on mine and Muurine’s faces. Then he asked, “What happened?”

Muurune sat me at the table and pulled Sindorin aside to quietly fill him in on the details. When they finished speaking, he came to kneel before me, taking my hand, and saying, “Oh, Syl, I…I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t speak. What words could possibly have conveyed what it felt like to be exiled—disowned by my own beloved father? Fresh tears filled my eyes, and though I tried to fight it, I began weeping again. Sindorin pulled me into his arms and held me as I wept, and I was comforted by the warmth of his embrace. But nothing could possibly fill the void that was left in my heart that day. Nothing could heal the ache of abandonment that surrounded me.



Muurine was up bright and early the next morning, and she was hardly very quiet, though I think she was trying to be. Although Sindorin and I were together, I slept in Muurine’s quarters, while he slept downstairs on a bedroll he laid out in the kitchen, as it would have been entirely improper for a lady to sleep anywhere but in a private chamber.

Usually Muurine slept late, but this morning she had something on her mind. She went right to it, sitting at her desk and studying her books and her notes voraciously. I was hardly privy to what it was she was so intent on finding, but I couldn’t sleep with her rapid page-turning and absent-minded mumbling. So, I got up and sat in a chair beside her, wrapped in a blanket, and rested my head upon her shoulder. She smiled slightly, continuing to scan the pages of her books; and when she had found what she was looking for she stuck a quill in the pages and turned to look down at me.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said. “Did I wake you?”

“No, not really,” I replied in a sleepy voice. I yawned a little, then sat up and saw that she was looking at me very curiously. “What is it?”

“Not to pry,” she began with caution, “but I suspect you and Sindorin have…taken your relationship to the next level… Am I correct, or am I just misreading things?”

I didn’t reply at first. I couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t just one of her ways of fishing details out of me which she could use to enrich her gossip with. After all, it really wasn’t any of her business. And besides, I was still tired.

My lengthy silence brought out a sigh from her, and she got up and pushed in her chair. “Never mind…. I’m sorry—I should never have asked, I suppose. I was just hoping, I guess. I would love to see you together… And you know you can tell me anything, Syl—I’m good at keeping secrets, if that’s what you want me to do.”

Yeah, right, I thought with some amusement. She was good at keeping some secrets—but many times she spilled at least to one other person, who would then tell one other person—all of them promising absolute secrecy, only going on to tell one person they believed they could trust. Then before you know it, everyone in town is buzzing about it. Of course, Muurine and her friends meant well—usually, anyway. But the truth was, they were horrible at keeping secrets other than their own, and usually everyone found out about it sooner or later.

I didn’t reply. Instead, I only smiled and got up to get dressed. She watched me walk away for a moment, and then came over to help, as usual.

While she helped me into my clothes, I thought about telling her. I knew she would be excited about it. But I liked keeping it to myself, as so little of my life had ever truly been.

After helping me into my simple black dress, she stopped and took my face in her hand to admire me with tears in her shining brown eyes. “You look so much like your mother. She and I were friends, you know. I met her at court just after you were born, and we became friends very quickly. That’s why she decided to hire me on as your governess, when the first one wasn’t working out very well.”

“The first one?” I asked, having known nothing of having another governess before Muurine.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, thinking back on it. “The first one was your wet-nurse; a Redguard woman with seven grown children, who had served your parents as a chambermaid for years…. I don’t know exactly what it was that made her no longer suitable to govern you, but I remember your mother was very nervous about it. Your father was, as usual, suspicious of her. They never spoke to me about it, but I did over hear him mention something about a secret, if I remember correctly? Hmm…. I never did find out what this secret was, but apparently the woman knew too much about something, and was threatening to expose this secret….”

“What happened to her?”

“Well, she was executed, naturally.”

“Do you know what the secret was about?”

“No. All I know, dear, is that it was a secret that your parents were willing to kill for, in order to keep it from getting out. Every family has secrets, though. I’m sure it’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

I became silent, thoughtful. Muurine was convincing that she knew nothing more than what she had told me about it, but I still couldn’t help but wonder if there was more that she wasn’t telling me. I sat on my bed and watched her as she continued with her studies again, trying to decide if she did know more than she had told me.

Deciding that Muurine had truly told me everything she knew, I got up and went downstairs to see if Sindorin was awake yet. He wasn’t. He was still fast asleep in his bedroll, so I curled up beside him under the covers. He stirred and smiled a little, pulling me close and snuggling, but he was still only partially awake. While I lied there, I still wondered about what Muurine had told me, until I decided that it did no good for me to dwell on it further, and I pushed it from my mind.



While we all sat down to breakfast together that morning, a knock sounded on the door. We all looked at each other, and then Uncle Leo rose, straightening his fine silk jacket, and saying, “I’ll answer it.”

We all watched him walk down to the door, and we listened as he answered it. I heard the voice of my father’s Mazken courier, a male named Torzen. “Madgod’s blessings, honored madman. I have here a message from His Lordship, Duke Gelebor, for the madwoman, Syl Camoran. It must be delivered at once.”

“Thank you,” I heard Uncle Leo reply, before closing the door. He soon came back into the dining room, carrying a scroll that was tied with a black ribbon and sealed with my father’s emblem. He held it out to me, saying, “For you, my dear.”

As I took the letter from him, my hand shook. I prayed my father was summoning me to return, and that he had forgiven me. But upon unrolling the letter, I would find that it was even more unpleasant news. I should have guessed it when the courier had referred to me simply as ‘the madwoman, Syl Camoran.’ The lack of my usual title of honor, as well as the use of my mother’s ancestral surname, should have told me right away that I was far from forgiven.

The letter read as follows:

“Madwoman Syl Camoran,

Your crimes against us are most unforgivable. Unless you are willing to offer a sincere apology, and do penance for your trespasses, you are hereby banished from the House of Dementia and forbidden to seek the aid of any courtier or servant of House Dementia. Any who offer refuge to disgraced former members of the court, will be proving themselves disloyal, and will be susceptible to imprisonment and possible torture. May the Madgod have mercy on you.

Lord Gelebor, Duke of Dementia.”

When I finished reading the letter, I laid it on the table and just sat there, staring through it. Not only was I banished from the House of Dementia—now I might as well be banished from the entire city of Crucible. I could hardly believe my father would do this to me, and all because of that wretched woman!

“Syl, dear?” asked Muurine. “What does it say?”

“Read for yourself,” I managed to say, pushing the letter away and getting up from the table. “Madgod be with you all.”

Muurine was shocked when I began heading for the door, and she ran to stop me from leaving, while Uncle Leo picked up the letter and read it himself.

“Syl, where are you going?” Muurine cried, taking my arm to stop me. “You mustn’t leave… Where will you go?”

“Muurine,” said Uncle Leo, holding up the letter. “She has no choice. The Duke has made it perfectly clear…”

“What?” Muurine took the letter and scanned it quickly. Fury crossed her face suddenly and she tore up the letter, throwing it to the floor. “Well, this is what I think of it! I will not turn my Syl out onto the streets! She must stay here.”

“No, Muurine,” I said, shaking my head. “I will not put you at risk like that. I will go. I am sure someone who is not a member of court will take me in.”

Sindorin stood up finally, and said, “I will take you to Ashwood. You can stay with me.”

“Sindorin, are you sure?” I asked.

“I am no longer a member of the court, remember?” he said, walking over to take my hand. “And I would love nothing more than to have you stay at my home.”

While I was not too keen on the idea of leaving Crucible altogether, the prospect of making my home with Sindorin was more than appealing. Of course, I did not want to sound too excited, so I said, “Only if it is not an inconvenience to you.”

“It is no matter at all,” he answered, pressing my hand to his lips. “And I believe you will like it there.”

I smiled faintly, but I was still reeling from the shock of my father’s decision. Muurine, however, was not so ready to let me go. “This is unfair! You cannot just up and leave so suddenly. I’ll not stand for it.”

“Aunt Muurine,” said Sindorin, taking her by the arm, “please do not do anything to further anger the Duke. Syl and I have fallen out of favor with him, and we are lucky that he is being this lenient on us. I should think it unwise for any one of us to push our luck.”

“Sindorin is right, Muurine,” said Uncle Leo. “While I am not in agreement with Lord Gelebor’s decision, it is best for us to simply obey without question. Once he has cooled down some, he may be more forgiving. But for now, we must do as he commands.”

Muurine didn’t want to back down, but she knew that both Uncle Leo and Sindorin were right. She looked at me and held out her arms, and I accepted her embrace. Squeezing me tightly, she said, “I just can’t bear the thought of you being so far away from me. Ashwood is an entire day’s journey from here—I will hardly get to see you.”

“We will come to visit,” said Sindorin. “We can always stay at the inn.”

Muurine nodded slowly, and I went back to Sindorin. When I leaned back against him, he put his arms around me, and Muurine smiled at us with tears in her eyes. She knew we were in love, and it brought her some joy in this otherwise sorrowful moment. “Oh, come here, the both of you,” she said, holding her arms out to us.

The three of us embraced each other one last time, and then Sindorin grabbed our cloaks and we headed out into the cold, rainy morning, to begin our day-long journey down to Ashwood as exiles.

Something is decidedly odd about Sindorin. He wakes up to a woman he is in love with snuggling him in his bed and merely stirs a little ... hmmm. Add that to him not stepping up and asking the Duke for her hand in marriage - oh yeah, Sindorin has some secrets of his own I'll bet. I wonder what they are, lol.

Syl not doing as the Duke bid and returning to him with an apology - that was probably a decision based in her youth, I was surprised Muurine didn't advise her to take that route. And a secret - one that Muurine obviously CAN keep, lol. A great chapter !!!

mALX: Yes, Muurine does actually have the ability to keep some secrets. When her life depends on it, then she knows very well how to keep her lips sealed....



Chapter 7.2—Exiled

Though I felt a sense of sorrow at leaving the city of my birth, I was excited and giddy about starting a new life with Sindorin in Ashwood—a city which had mystified me since I was a little girl. When we arrived, nobody knew who I was at all. It was such a relief to feel a sense of anonymity, for probably the first time in my life. I began to relax a bit, seeing that I wasn’t being watched so closely, like I always was in Crucible, where almost everybody knew who I was.

Life with Sindorin in Ashwood was wonderful, and for the first week I was unbelievably happy. He was so kind and respectful, and he showered me with love every single day. But it didn’t take long for me to realize I would not be happy in Ashwood for the rest of my life. After the first week, Sindorin began spending a lot of time going out on the hunt, and he would be gone for days at a time, usually only returning home for the weekend. I thought he would want me to go along on the hunt, but he seemed less than enthused when I asked to join him.

“Listen, Syl, I just need some time alone. I am not used to being around anyone this much—I need more solitude. And besides, I would prefer it if you stay here, where you will be safe.”

“I do not want to be your princess in a tower, Sindorin!” I argued. “I can handle myself in a battle just as well as you—I don’t need to be locked away for safe keeping!”

“Please, Syl,” he said, lifting my chin and wiping hot tears from my cheeks. “It is not easy for me to change the way of life I have lived for longer then you’ve been alive. Next time I will let you come with me—but this time I just want to go alone.”

Looking up at him, I let out a sigh. Then I said, “All right. Go, then. I will not stop you.”

“Thank you for understanding,” he replied, kissing me and patting me on the cheek before heading to grab his bow. He stopped before going out the door, and turned back to me, saying, “Please make sure you stay home while I am away, and do not answer the door if anyone knocks. You never know…. I’ll return in two days. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I answered quietly, though I couldn’t look at him. And then he was gone, and I was alone once again.



The fireflies were glowing yellow and the sound of rushing water filled my ears from nearby. I was standing in a grove of oak trees and willows, hidden from the sight of unwelcome eyes. Crickets serenaded all around me, and the warm breeze blew softly, caressing my skin like the gentle touch of a lover. I closed my eyes, feeling so at peace in this strange world—for some reason, I felt secure, though I had no idea where I was.

Then I heard the sound of footsteps crunching twigs and leaves on the forest floor, and I turned to see who was coming. My heart leapt when he stepped into the clearing, smiling at me as if I were his greatest joy, and I knew by the look in his magnificent eyes that he loved me. When he drew me into his arms, kissing me with such passion, I nearly melted in the warmth of his embrace.

“Look at them, Syl,” he said to me, his eyes turning upwards, where two massive glowing orbs floated in the night sky. Taking my hand in his, he said, “They are like us—drifting through the endless darkness alone, longing for one another when they are apart, but touching every so often when the fates allow.”

He pressed his lips to mine, but before the kiss was even over, he began to fade until I was left standing alone once again, the pain of our separation too impossible to bear….

When I woke up, I was still alone, in Sindorin’s bed. I shivered from the cold and listened to the rain falling outside, and the thunder cracking as the lighting flashed. Letting out a sigh, I realized it was only another impossible dream….

I was beginning to feel trapped again, with Sindorin being so over-protective of me, and I was certain this beautiful man I kept dreaming about was someone my mind conjured up to fill the ever-growing void in my miserable and lonely life. And yet, something about him seemed so familiar, as if I had met him before.

A part of me felt guilty for betraying Sindorin with this dream man, but I couldn’t help that my soul yearned for him so strongly. It didn’t help that Sindorin was almost never around, and when he was he spent more time repairing all of his hunting supplies in the parlor than he did with me. I cooked for him and cleaned for him, and stayed locked inside the house for him, and the only time he was able to spare for me was when we shared his bed.

One weekend when he came home, he sat in the parlor polishing the tips of his arrows, while I stood in the doorway, aching for him to notice me. When he finally realized I was there, he turned to me, and said, “Oh, Syl… I didn’t know you were standing there. Is something the matter? You look so glum. You hardly spoke to me at dinner….”

Tears began to well up in my eyes, and though I tried to fight it, I couldn’t hold back. “Everything is so different now, Sindorin. You are not the same here as you were in Crucible.”

He leaned back in his wooden chair, the leather of his armor making a scrunching sound with his movements. He let out a sigh and looked away from me, resting his hands on the back of his head, and obviously trying to think of what to say. But then, much to my surprise, he said, “So? Neither are you….”

A tear slipped down my cheek when I closed my eyes, unable to believe any of this. I didn’t even know what to say. I turned my face toward the floor, and said, “You don’t really want me here, do you?”

He sighed again and got up from his chair, saying, “Madgod, Syl, whatever made you say something like that? Of course I want you here.”

“To be your maid? To be the mistress you can return to when you need pleasure? I thought you loved me, but you treat me like nothing more than your personal harlot.”

“Syl, you know that you mean more to me than that,” he said, apparently shocked that I would say such things.

“Do I? Because you sure have a strange way of showing it! You keep me locked up inside this house day after day, while you go out hunting all week long, coming home only to lie with me for a couple of nights before you are at it again.”

“Syl, I…I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly at a loss for words. “This is how I have lived for many, many years, and I cannot just change it overnight. These things take time, Syl.”

“But you’re not even trying!” I cried, desperate for him to understand me. “In Crucible, I was the world to you. But here I am nothing but your slave to do with as you please!”

“I didn’t know you were feeling this way,” he said, sincerely baffled. “If I have made you feel that way, then I’m sorry, Syl. I truly didn’t know….”

“Perhaps if you were more concerned about your relationship with me, instead of living your life as you always did in the past, you would have noticed that I’ve been feeling this way almost since the beginning. This isn’t what I had thought it would be. This isn’t what I had…imagined….”

I became silent at this point, as the cold realization hit me. I had been falling for quite some time now, but I hadn’t realized it until it was too late to catch myself. Now there we were, standing before one another in the parlor, but it was as if we were an entire world away from each other.

Finally finding the words to speak, I took a deep breath, and said, “I want to go home—back to Crucible. I can’t stay here anymore, Sindorin, or I’ll just die.”

“But where will you go? You’ll be out on the streets….”

“I’ll find a way,” came my reply. “I just can’t bear this any longer. I don’t want to stay here with you anymore. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t know…maybe I should be happy here with you, but I’m not.”

After a momentary pause, Sindorin looked at me again and nodded, saying, “If that is what you truly want, then I will take you back to Crucible in the morning. I’m sorry, Syl. I don’t know what to say. Perhaps when you’re a little older, you will reconsider your decision and come back to me? I do love you, Syl.”

But it’s not enough, I thought painfully. But I didn’t say what was on my mind, and I just nodded my head slowly and walked back up the stairs. With a heavy heart, I packed my few belongings while Sindorin sat downstairs, staring pensively into the fire. I knew that even though he wasn’t very good at showing it, he did love me, and he did want me to be there. I can’t even begin to express how much I loved him, and how grateful I was for his charity toward me.

The next day, Sindorin escorted me back to Crucible, not wanting me to travel the roads alone. The journey was slow and solemn; neither of us talked most of the way, both lost in our own thoughts. We didn’t really know what more to say, so we were silent.

Because I could not stay with Muurine, Sindorin walked me to the inn, where he paid for two weeks worth of room and board for me. He would have paid for more, if he could have, but I told him I would be fine and I thanked him for all of his kindness.

Before he left, Sindorin took me aside and we embraced. Both of us cried softly as we kissed each other one last time, then said farewell. He whispered in my ear, “Madgod be with you, my sweet little Syl. Take care of yourself.”

My heart broke the moment he walked out the door of my room, but I knew this was for the best. As much as I loved him, I could not be with him—at least not at that point in our lives. Muurine came to visit, and she sat with me for the rest of the day, while I wept with my head in her lap as she gently stroked my hair. I missed Sindorin already, and I felt like the worst person in the whole Realm to do this to him. I feared that Muurine would be angry with me, but she was good and understanding and she assured me that this was for the best—if I was not happy in Ashwood then I shouldn’t force myself to stay there, not even for Sindorin. The hardest part was letting go.

What an outstanding paragraph !! I can't help but wonder if the lover of her dreams is Thadon. What I found strange in this chapter was Sindorin's cool acceptance of the break up - while Syl was torn by it, felt bad for hurting him when he wasn't displaying pain. Sindorin has been strange all along, he reeks of secrets and motives below the surface with all his strange actions regarding Syl since she was grown. Intriguing !! Awesome Write !!!!!!

“Well, she was executed, naturally.”
How very demented! That Muurine said this in a rather blasé manner is testimony to how well you have crafted her for us.

And another mystery! This time about Syl's first governess.

Then Syl and Sindorin went off to Ashwood with such high hopes. Very poignant how things didn't work out there for Syl, and a sad return to Crucible.

Nit: 'While I lied there,'
You want 'lay' here. Lay vs lie can be very confusing and become even more so in the past tense. A correct example: 'Yesterday I lay in bed all day reading. Finally I laid my book on the table and put out the light.' I highly recommend you google 'lay vs lie' and try to get comfortable with the quirky differences.

Blessings of the Madgod! What a wonderful story! It's always nice to see another writer here (and a Bosmer no less! )
I am loving what you have done with the Shivering Isles! I don't get to visit with my Argonain as much as I'd like so it's nice to read your wonderful descriptions of the brilliant madness. You have given a huge depth to characters that I have never really spoken to 'in-game' and for that I congratulate you. I particularly loved the early scene with Thadon and Syl as children in Bliss, Thadon chasing after his chocolate as it floated away made me giggle. The romance between Syl and her lovers was also wonderful to read.

I look forward to future chapters with much anticipation!

mALX: Yes, Sindorin is rather detached, as you can plainly see. He does love Syl, but he is a madman, after all, and somewhere in his past lies the reason for his current inability to show more emotion and caring. It's unfortunate, because if not for that, he might have been a wonderful man for Syl to spend her life with. But, alas! it could not be.

Acadian: It probably helps me write the Demented characters with their so very twisted perspective because one of my favorite films growing up was The Addams Family with Anjelica Huston. In fact, Anjelica Huston is, in some ways, my inspiration for Muurine's character--I could see her as Muurine perfectly, though Muurine is more of a mixture of some of Ms. Huston's most memorable roles. I love writing these characters because they are just so very different...

hazmick: How wonderful it is to see a new reader join in Lady Syl's House of Madness! I am so pleased to hear that you are enjoying this rather bittersweet story of Syl's (and Thadon's).



Chapter 8—Dreams of Passion

It was a warm, sunny day in the Shivering Isles, and Thadon wanted to take advantage of the weather. He spent much of the day walking on the palace grounds, or sitting in the Halcyon Conservatory with a good book. He snacked on chocolates while he read, sipping wine from a silver goblet, and dreaming of the far off places in the stories he read. Then he began nodding off, an effect from the greenmote he had eaten with the midday meal wearing off, mixed with incurable boredom, when suddenly a voice called his name.

He opened his eyes, and when he saw who it was, he let out a sigh, and asked, “Is it really time, my Lord? Must I do this right now?”

“It is time,” said Lord Antonius, the tall but portly Duke of Mania. “We must prepare for the feast. This is a marvelous day for you, my boy—the day your destiny begins to take shape. I thought you would be excited about this day.”

“I am,” Thadon responded, “but can’t I have a few more minutes? I was having the most wonderful dream about a childhood friend, and I don’t want to leave it just yet.”



Antonius smiled to himself. Yes, Thadon will make a fine Duke one day. He was eager to get Thadon prepared for his future, though the youth did not yet know what his master had in mind. The Duke was getting old and weary, though, from countless years spent eating too much and partying too hard. But, thus was the life of a Duke of Mania—one always had to be the life of the party, and there was a party at the House of Mania every night. When Thadon’s time came to assume the mantle of the Duke of Mania, Antonius knew he would serve the people well, just as he had served him since he was but a small boy. However, at the age of 17, Thadon had another couple years or so before he would be truly ready.

“Come on,” said Antonius. “You must get prepared. You will be my new steward, and that is a great honor. You have well earned it with your years of loyal service. Rise, Thadon, and take your place within my court.”

Thadon sighed and set his book aside, then got up and stretched. He was taller than most Wood Elf males, but still short compared to most men. Even so, he was well-built and unbelievably handsome, with soft brown hair that fell to his shoulders, and those gorgeous and unique eyes. Even Antonius could not deny that he found young Thadon to be good-looking and rather desirable. And the women of Mania, both young and old, went nuts over him, and he’d had more than his fair share of them already. He was not one to hold back from the things which he desired, but that was part of being Manic—one could never have too much of anything, so they believed. None of them ever held back, and it’s likely that none of them even knew how to.

“All right, Master Antonius,” he said, bowing respectfully. “I am at your service.”

“Now that’s what I wanted to hear,” said Antonius, patting him on the shoulder once, as he chuckled to himself.



As he followed his master, whom he loved like a father, Thadon couldn’t help letting his mind wander back to his dreams. He wasn’t sure what triggered the dream about Syl, but it came rather unexpectedly. He hadn’t seen nor heard from the girl in several years, ever since that day when she told him never to speak to her again. Though their friendship had lasted so briefly, she had left such an impression on him which he could never explain. He had thought of her from time to time over the years, but she hadn’t crossed his mind since his party days began. After that, he was always too distracted with all the women who were constantly throwing themselves at him to think about childhood friends.

Then all of a sudden, there she was, haunting him in his dreams while he dozed in the garden that day. He had been dreaming of that first day they had spent together, when he’d fallen in the stream and lost his chocolates. It was a rather simple event; but there was something special about that day, and nothing could ever compare to the joy he felt as they had laughed together in the water, soaked to the bone and looking like ragamuffins. He still smiled when he thought of that day, and he let out a long, nostalgic sigh as he pushed the dream from his mind.



After the feast that night, Thadon entertained himself with the most irresistible petite blonde woman he had ever seen. She was a Breton woman, with a sweet yet enticing name, Solange, and he had met her just that night at the feast. He knew the first moment he lay eyes upon her that she would be the one he would take back to his room that night. Like most women, she seemed entirely enthralled with him, too, and they hit it off right away.

When they had both had their fill of the party, they wandered off to his chamber together, looking to enjoy each other’s company for the night. They were laughing and playing in his bed, and he was having the time of his life. But then something completely unexpected happened. Thadon stopped suddenly and became still, as a strange vision swept him away…

Out of nowhere, the vision flashed before him of a woman with the most beautiful and mesmerizing smile he had ever seen, gazing at him with such intense blue eyes. He was completely in awe of this woman, and he knew that, whoever she was, he was in love with her. And by the look in those amazing blue eyes, he knew that she was in love with him, too.

She was unbelievably beautiful, lovelier than any woman he had ever seen, with long, dark brown hair that framed her heart-shaped face, and eyes that seemed to penetrate into his very soul. But it wasn’t her beauty alone which drew him to her. There was something else, something much deeper than the flesh, like a connection of the soul.

“I love you, Thadon,” the woman whispered softly to him, before leaning down to kiss him. But just before their lips touched, the vision was gone, just as quickly as it had come, and he was face to face with Solange once again, who looked at him in confusion, as if wondering why he had stopped so suddenly.

The vision had stunned him, leaving him confused and disoriented, and suddenly Solange was not so irresistible to him anymore. He moved away and sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his face in his hands and trying to figure out what in Oblivion had just happened.

Solange watched him curiously, and asked, “Thadon? Is…everything all right? What happened?”

Thadon shook his head and got up, slipping on a robe and pouring himself a glass of wine. He downed the whole glass in one drink, then set it down and leaned on the table with his hands, letting out a long sigh. “I’m not really in the mood tonight,” he said finally. “Just go…. I…need to rest.”

“But, Thadon, what--?”

“Just go, Solange,” he repeated, more forceful and direct. “I said I’m not interested tonight.”

“Was I no good?” she asked, sounding hurt and confused by his rejection.

“No,” he sighed. “It’s not that, it’s just… I can’t really explain it. I don’t know what happened.”

She got up off the bed and came around to him, reaching her hand beneath his robe, and saying, “There are herbs that can help with that.”

Thadon pulled away and held out his hands to stop her. “No, Solange, it’s nothing like that.”

“I can tell,” she said, raising her brow. “So, what’s the problem?”

“Look, would you just leave?” he said, sitting on the bed again. “I told you, I’m not in the mood anymore.”

Solange sighed and begrudgingly started to collect the remainder of her clothes. “Fine,” she said, shortly. “If that’s how you’re going to be, then I’m not interested in you anymore, either. Good-bye!”

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Thadon let out another sigh, running his fingers through his hair, and looked at the vase of flowers on his desk, situated across the room. There was an assortment of various colorful flowers, but he noticed one that was right in the centre of the arrangement. It was the most beautiful flower of all—a rose, red for the color of passion. And at that moment, she was that rose, the fairest of all the flowers.

He got up and plucked the rose from the vase, sniffing at its voluptuous perfume and sighing with delight. Then he sat down and began scribbling voraciously, writing a poem to his lady:

O Lady of exquisite beauty!
A rose cannot compare,
To your elegant and lovely face,
And all that gorgeous hair!

O passion-stirring sentiment!
O fairest of them all!
The echo of that perfect voice
Doth happily still call!

Just wait and see, my Lady fair—
I know we’ll one day meet!
And on that day, the best of all,
I’ll sweep you off your feet!

And then together we shall dance,
With passion and desire!
Our love will burn eternally
And set the world on fire!




Ever since that unusual vision, Thadon was haunted by that beautiful dark-haired woman, who came to him often in his dreams while he slept. He would awaken after a dream of her, and sigh in disappointment when he saw that she wasn’t really there. He knew that the vision and the dreams must have meant something, but he wasn’t sure what. He hoped that perhaps the dreams were somehow prophetic—that he would one day meet that striking and incredibly unique wood elf, and that she would turn out to be his destined life-partner.

He had never even considered choosing a mate to whom he would be faithful and devoted. That just didn’t interest him at all—there were so many beautiful women to choose from, and just wanted to sample them all—until that woman began to show up in his dreams. He decided then that if he could only have one woman for the rest of his life—a terrifying thought to most Maniacs—he would gladly choose it to be her. He could see himself being satisfied with only one woman, as long as it was that woman in his dreams.

As Thadon sat in the Halcyon Conservatory one day, staring up at the sky and thinking about his dream lady, he suddenly came to the realization that there was another possibility as to what the dreams were saying to him—although it was one that was much less appealing than the thought of them being prophetic dreams. It was always possible that these dreams were merely symbolic, and that the woman was only an archetype for what he would consider the ideal life-mate. He hoped it was the first option—the prophetic dream. But he couldn’t be sure….

The woman, though beautiful, did not seem bright and bubbly like all the women he knew already, which struck him as somewhat odd as he continued to contemplate her in his chamber that night. She was more serious than any of the women he’d ever known, which only made her all that more appealing—she was different, unique. She was unchartered territory, and yet he was sure that there was something very familiar about her. The woman in his dreams was unlike any other, and he longed to find her.

Sighing almost painfully, he thought about her smile—hers seemed more sincere than the smiles of the women in Mania that he knew. It was almost tinged with a hint of sorrow, which he could not understand. But when she smiled at him, it was as if she were seeking reassurance and love—he made her vulnerable in some way, and he imagined it was something that wasn’t normal for her, though he didn’t know why he got that impression.

Jumping up from his bed, Thadon dug out his art supplies and put a fresh canvas on the easel by the foot of his bed. Unable to get her face out of his mind, he began drawing on the canvas with a charcoal pencil, sketching her face with such skill as to appear not to put any effort into his drawing. What he saw in his mind came out on the canvas almost perfectly, and when he was finished, he stepped back and admired his work. She was so beautiful to him…no other woman in all of Mania could ever compare. She was unique—and to him, she was perfect….

What a lovely insight into the life of the manics and Thadon's early court days. I wonder, does he take chocolate with his greenmote?

I think the young Bosmer is in love! If only he knew who that familiar face belonged to!

Great chapter M'lady.

My dear Syl... why must you break these hearts so?

It seems Syl hasn't quite gotten used to the fact that she is no longer royalty. Frankly, her complaints about living with Sindorin seemed like she's been spoiled by being able to live as she wished for most of her adolescent life. But, by the same token, she was also a prisoner of her father's will, so this could go either way.

It is disheartening to see her leave Sindorin, but at the same time, she now knows he is not the one in life she has been looking for. I wonder who is?

And I wonder if she is ever going to get to pay a visit to Cyrodiil, too? I would love to see Masser and Secunda rise in person, myself!

7.1
I wonder what this secret was that Syl's wetnurse was executed for learning? Maybe who Syl's real father was? Or real mother was? Interesting...

7.2
I was not surprised at the courier's note of further banishment. I expected as much. I am also not surprised to see Syl's little love-nest with Sindorin quickly become stifling as well. For his own part, I am certain that married life (for even if it is not official, that is basically what it is) is quite a shock for him. Loving someone is one thing. Being able to live with them is something else entirely. Especially when you are used to doing everything your own way.

Syl's dream, and the mystery man in it, now that sparks some ideas. Why do I keep thinking of Thadon? I suppose only time will tell the answer to that.

Now there we were, standing before one another in the parlor, but it was as if we were an entire world away from each other.
I loved how you did the entire scene, but especially this. I have been there and done that myself, and that is exactly what it is like. Well written!

But it’s not enough
This is another excellent realization, and a most basic truth that people can only learn the hard way. Love is not enough. It takes more, and often that is just not there.

This note is copied and pasted on everyone whose story I am having to neglect for a few days - mainly because my eyes are burning too badly to keep looking at the screen :


"I'll be back!" (spoken in an Arnold voice). I haven't had time to read this week - way too much going on, my week has been hectic as H !! When I have gotten any free time my eyes and mind were burned out, lol. I'll be back to read this when I get a bit of a break in the rat-race pace around here. (sorry about that )

Not to worry, mALXie. Thank you for letting us all know.

hazmick:Thank you! And yes, I believe Thadon does indeed take chocolate with his greenmote!

TK:I break these hearts because it gives you an insight to this seemingly terrible person from the game, of course! Unfortunately it only gets worse before it gets better. Must have much pain and sorrow to create the future Duchess of Dementia, after all. But I'll give you a little to look forward to: Through all the misery she experiences, there are little rays of sunshine and happiness that will manage to peek through all the clouds.

SubRosa:Hmm, you may be onto something. Time will only tell, of course. And Sindorin was a learning experience that she had to go through perhaps, to know what the real good thing is when it comes... Soon perhaps?



Chapter 9.1—Desperation

After returning to Crucible, I found that most of my old friends no longer cared for me, now that I was no longer in my father’s favor. Now that I was disgraced, I was nothing to them. So much for true friendship…

Cutter was still friends with me, but she was busier with learning to be a blacksmith, so she didn’t have much time to spend with me. However, she made it clear that she still valued my friendship, and on her free-time she would have me over at the smith shop to hang out together, usually just the two of us.

Sometimes Dumag gro-Shadborgob would also hang out with us, as he was Morga’s son, and also Cutter’s lover at the time. I could never understand her attraction to him, but they seemed very fond of each other then, and he would at the very least try to be friendly. However, he apparently had always had an interest in me, and he had asked Cutter to get me to go to bed with him one time. I was hardly interested, especially since I assumed the two of them were going steady, but apparently Cutter thought it would be fun. She was particularly wild in those days, and she could get me to do just about anything.

Dumag had offered to pay me for it, which I would have turned down in a heart-beat. But my two week stay at the inn was about to come to an end, and I had no money. If I didn’t get the 20 drakes it cost for a room, I was going to be out on the streets the very next night. But Dumag was willing to pay 10 for one time with me, so out of desperation, I agreed. I would make up the difference my own way.

In her chamber at the smithy, I asked Cutter if she would let me drink a couple bottles of wine first, but she vehemently said, “No! Absolutely not! Syl, how can you say you do or do not like it with him, if you’re too drunk to remember any of it?”

I glanced over at Dumag, who was waiting patiently on the bed in his loin cloth. He saw me look at him, and he made what appeared to be a smile. I forced myself to return his smile, and then looked back at Cutter. “All right,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll do it without getting drunk…. But can I at least have just one drink, to get me a little more in the mood?”

“Sure,” she said, handing me the bottle she had only just wrenched from my hands moments ago. I took one drink—one very long drink—and she had to yank the bottle away, so I wouldn’t consume it all. “You cheat!” she said with a snicker.

I smiled and said, “You said I could have one drink. You didn’t say how long it could be.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed my arm to pull me toward the bed. She took a swig of the wine herself, and handed it to Dumag, who accepted it graciously. Watching Dumag drink the wine then, I felt suddenly very modest and shy about this whole thing. Cutter, having noticed, reached around my waist to untie my bodice herself. I felt very awkward, but Dumag grinned. “Mmm, I like that. You two gonna put on a nice show for Dumag before we begin?”

“If you want us to,” said Cutter, much to my shock and horror.

“Cutter! You can’t be serious?”

“Sure I am,” she replied. “Why not? It’ll be fun.”

“I…can’t do this,” I said, shaking my head. “Please, Cutter, let’s just get on with Dumag, or else I want to go home.”

She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. Was she actually disappointed? “Fine, whatever,” she said. Madgod! She was disappointed!

I swallowed hard and came closer to the bed, and Dumag held his arms out to me, saying, “Come on, sugar. Let’s get this on, shall we? I’ve had my eye on you for a long time.”

Cutter had turned away, and I was surprised that she seemed so upset that I had opted out of giving Dumag a show. I wanted to talk about it, to find out why, but Dumag was eager, and I knew she probably wouldn’t talk about it anyway.

I’ll admit it wasn’t terrible—lets just say that orcs are rather well-endowed. But when it was over, I had already made up my mind that I never wanted to sleep with an orc again. It just didn’t appeal to me. Cutter went with him after he finished with me, and I took the half-drunk bottle of wine and went to sit in a corner with it, wrapping my black, lace-edged shawl around my shoulders to keep warm. I wanted to go back to the inn. I wasn’t in the mood to party anymore, so while they enjoyed each other’s company, I let myself out.

I was still a little on the drunk side, and I walked a bit unsteadily through the foggy streets. Everything seemed more frightening to me when I was drunk, and though my senses were not as sharp, I felt more alert in trying to focus and get off the dangerous streets. I was starting to wonder if having my father’s Seducer bodyguards follow me everywhere wasn’t such a bad idea, after all, and I wished I could have had them with me that night. Usually Cutter walked me home, but now I was pretty sure she was angry with me.

When I heard a set of footsteps following behind me suddenly, I felt even more worried, and I placed my hand on the small steel dagger Sindorin had given to me, just in case I ever needed to defend myself. If anyone tried to attack me, this time I would be ready.

I was relieved when the footsteps soon faded, as if the person had turned in another direction, and I relaxed. Then all of a sudden I came face to face with a tall, well-built man who looked as if he were up to no good. I nearly screamed.

“Sorry, madwoman,” the gentleman said with an eerie smile. “I did not mean to frighten you. I was only out for a stroll; I love the foggy nights in Crucible. They feel so refreshing, would you not agree?”

I stood there, dumbfounded. Was he seriously trying to make polite conversation with me? Or was there something else, something more sinister, behind it? Honestly, I was terrified, and I no longer had my dagger to protect myself with.

When I didn’t respond, the gentleman smiled. “I can see you are not one for talking. That’s all right.” He looked me over for a moment, then his smile broadened and he raised his brow. “Hmm, I wonder,” he said, thoughtfully. “Would you, perchance, be interested in providing your services to me? I realize that it is quite late, and you were probably done for the night, but…well…I’d be willing to pay very generously.”

Suddenly I realized the man was offering me money in exchange for sex. He thought I was a…a street-walker! I almost laughed. But then…hadn’t I just had sex with Dumag for 10 drakes? And I knew I was in a rather desperate situation, not wanting to be out on the streets, so I put on a smile, and asked, “How much are you willing to pay?”

He pulled out a plain leather coin pouch, taking out a few drakes. Not much, for what he was asking…. But then he tucked the money into his shirt and offered me the pouch that was heavy with coins. I couldn’t believe it. There had to have been at least 20 drakes in there, if not more. I accepted it graciously, and then we went into a nearby alley together, where I gave him his dues.

When the man had satisfied himself, he tied his breeches and walked away, vanishing into the foggy night and I pulled open the pouch to see what I had. I was astounded when I counted 25 drakes, and I had to count it again just to be sure. Now I had enough for one more night at the inn, and a little extra. The thought of sleeping with men I didn’t know was not very appealing to me; however, it gave me a bit of an idea, and I hurried back to the inn to get a couple hours of sleep until the alchemist’s shop opened in the morning.

Chapter 8
So nice to see an episode about Thadon! I have been wondering how he was faring, and if he was still on the fast track to becoming the next Duke. He certainly has a much better relationship with his Duke than Syl does! I liked the contrast this gives us to the House of Dementia, where torturing people is the entertainment for parties. Where the Duke of Mania is the life of the party. I think I would like the Manic parties better... Although from the glimpse you have given us of what that it is like to be Duke of Mania, I can see how it would wear people out.

So Thadon is dreaming about Syl? How delightful! Then his considering that the woman in his dreams is just a symbol projected by his on unconscious, showed a great deal of self-awareness.

Chapter 9

Desperation indeed. Poor Syl is finding out that life is not so easy without a silver spoon in your mouth. She is going to have to learn to work for a living, and it looks like she started with Dumag! Hopefully she can find a better way to make money than that. Given what happens later during her midnight stroll, I guess not! Still I wonder what that idea was she had at the end?



nits:
Chapter 8
You seem to be head-hopping again in the first part. It starts with Thadon alone, so that section must be from his pov. Then as soon as the Duke arrives, we are in his thoughts. Then near the end, we are definitely in Thadon's head, as we know that Syl is in his thoughts.

Even so, he was well-built and unbelievably handsome, with soft brown hair that fell to his shoulders, and those gorgeous and unique eyes.
Unless you want us to think that Duke Antonius is bisexual, and has a crush on Thadon, you might want to reword this (if he is, and he does, then excellent!) At least, my impression was that this was from the pov of the Duke? Maybe it was Thadon thinking of himself?

You head-hop again at the beginning of the second part. We start out firmly entrenched in Thadon's pov as he thinks about the blond hottie. Then we suddenly swerve into said hottie's head, as we know that she definitely wanted to sleep with him. And it keeps going back and forth as the part goes on.

Chapter 9
Are you going with a septim and a drake being the same coin? I bring it up because many people have them being different denominations, usually with the septim being gold, and the drake being silver (so that x drakes equal one septim).

SYL! I am shocked! Why did poor Cutter get left out, it seems very rude to treat your host in such a way! A brilliant chapter, it is wonderful to see what goes on in that head of yours/hers. I can only imagine what Thadon would say if he heard about this...assuming that he had not consumed his own body weight in greenmote chocolate and still had the ability to speak

SubRosa:oops! Didn't notice the whole septim/drake thing. I meant for it to be drakes; I'll go back and fix that. THanks!

Pov--that's what I probably struggle with most when writing third person, which is why I think I prefer first person much of the time... thanks for pointing that out. I'll go back and figure out how I can remedy that.

hazmick:Yes, Syl and I have become rather entwined, haven't we? I'm not nearly as naughty as she is, though, lol. Only in my imagination!



Chapter 9.2—Desperation

The very next morning, I went to the alchemist’s shop, hoping to buy the ingredients I needed with what little money I had left. Thankfully, I had just enough to buy what I needed to make that elixir I used to make when Cutter and I would steal money from all those lusty men at the inn. I had every intention of doing that again, at least for a little while, so that I would not be out on the streets.

Muurine was surprised when I knocked at her door asking to borrow her mortar and pestle, and she quickly pulled me inside, looking out to be sure no one saw her welcome me into her house. “Of course you may use my mortar and pestle, dear. You can use anything you need—but what is it for?”

“I…want to make some potions to sell.” Of course, that wasn’t exactly the truth, but I wasn’t about to tell her I was going to use it for a crime spree.

“Come,” she said, “you must be quick. You may use my equipment upstairs in my quarters. Are you hungry? Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you,” I replied with a slight smile. “I do not wish to put you at any more risk than I already am just by being here. I will be quick, and I will let myself out.”

“Well…all right, then,” she said, hesitantly. “Go on upstairs. But let me know if you need anything.”

I thanked her quickly, and then headed upstairs to get to work. Pulling out my ingredients: rot scale and worms head caps for the paralysis, and alocasia fruit to mask the bitter taste, I worked carefully to be sure I got the proportions just right for maximum effect. When I had finished, I had three small vials of my paralyzing elixir, and I tucked them inside my empty coin purse for safe keeping before slipping out without saying anything to Muurine.



When I went back to the inn that night, the proprietor, Sharag gro-Ghoth, greeted me in the same unpleasant manner he always did. He was a rather disgusting man, as were most orcs, in my opinion, and he always stank of sweat and stale beer. I nearly gagged when I came near him, and had to force a smile when I sat down at the bar.

“What do you want?” he asked in a rough voice. “Your stay here expired this morning, so unless you got somethin’ to do here other than loaf around, I suggest you leave.”

“I’m not loitering,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. I scanned the room, scoping for any likely victims in my scheme. There were only a handful of men in the tavern, and none of them appeared to have any of the qualities I desired. Sighing disappointedly, I turned back to Sharag and leaned my elbow on the bar, saying, “I’m waiting for someone.”

Sharag grunted in his usual manner and looked me over suspiciously; and I was pretty sure he was also eyeing my bosom. Disgusting! When I noticed, I shifted myself so that it was not so easily glimpsed from his angle.

“Don’t tell me you’re waitin’ for that other tree-hugging friend of yours,” he said. “I’ve had enough of your little games. Don’t think I ain’t figured it out what you two were up to, and I won’t hesitate to call the guard if you think you’re gonna be doin’ that crap again.”

“I’m not waiting for Cutter,” I said in a snappish tone. “And I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Well then, in that case, can I get you anything? A drink? Some food?”

“I don’t have any money,” I replied.

He looked me over again and smiled. “You don’t need money to pay for things, sweetness. I’m sure you an’ I can work somethin’ out.”

I wanted to vomit! I couldn’t believe the nerve of that pig, and I didn’t bother to hide my disgust. “Ugh! No, thanks,” I replied with a grimace. “You’re not my type.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, in a disgruntled tone. “Let me guess—your type is some Imperial nobleman, or some fancy-dressed tree-hugger like yourself?”

“Do you treat all of your customers so appallingly?”

“Last I checked, honey, you ain’t a customer.”

Having had enough, I got up and found a vacant table in a corner, as far away from that smelly orc as I could get. He stared at me constantly, though, annoyed by my presence—or was it something else? I did my best to ignore him and waited for someone new to show up—just about anyone with a full coin-purse would do, at that point. That’s when my luck seemed to turn around.

A very tall and good-looking Nord walked into the tavern, coming from the guests’ quarters upstairs. He noticed me right away, and he watched me closely while going to the bar to get a drink. I cast him a couple of seductive smiles and poised myself in a provocative manner, letting my sleeve slip a little from my shoulder and pushing up my bust enough to tease him from across the room. After a few swigs from a bottle of mead, he finally decided to come over.

“Hello,” he said, looking me over and extending his hand. “My name’s Hans. Are you alone, or are you waiting for someone?”

“I’m Arwen,” I lied while I shook his hand. I was a little nervous about doing this alone, especially since Sharag was already onto me, but I tried to hide my discomfort and forced a smile. “Yes, I am waiting for someone—you, perhaps?”

He laughed a little, then wetted his lips and eyed me some more, saying, “I would love to join you. Maybe we can move this up to my room?”

“You must have read my mind,” I said in a flirty way, as I took his offered hand and followed him upstairs.

Behind closed doors, he eyed me hungrily and began to advance toward me, but I stopped him, asking, “Wouldn’t you like to have some wine first? I’m rather thirsty.”

He grunted and walked toward the bed, saying, “Sure, whatever. Make yourself comfortable. Pour yourself a glass.”

I walked over to the small wooden dresser which doubled as a table in his small room, and with my back turned to him, I opened the bottle of wine he had there. Filling my cup, I asked, “Would you like some, too?”

“Heh, sure,” he answered. “Pour me one.”

“Sure thing,” I mumbled, smiling to myself as I started to pour him a glass. Moving quickly and carefully, I pulled out one of the vials of poison and slipped it into his cup. My heart pounded rapidly in my chest, but as nervous as I was about doing this without Cutter, I was also excited. Until I felt Hans grab me by the wrist and roughly jerk me around to face him.

He saw the vial in my hand and looked down at his cup. Then he narrowed his eyes down at me, and growled, “I knew there was something familiar about you. Only last time you robbed me, you were with a friend. You sneaky little wench!”

He shoved me back against the wall, holding me by the wrists, and continued to glare at me, while I pleaded with him, saying, “Please! I’m only doing it to survive! I need the money, or I’ll be out on the streets!”

“So you thought you could make some money at my expense? I should kill you for trying to cheat me…” He stopped and looked down at my bosom then and smiled. “But I’ve got a better idea. I want what I paid for.”

He started to unlace his pants, still holding me against the wall, but I begged him, “Please! Don’t do this! I won’t do it ever again, I swear! Wait! Just don’t hurt me! Please!”

He stopped for a moment and looked into my eyes. “So, are you gonna come willingly to my bed? If I don’t get a piece of you, I just might turn you into the authorities. You think being locked away in Corpserot Passage is better than being on the streets? Go ahead and give it a try!”

I shook my head, terrified at the thought of going to prison. “No, please! Don’t turn me in!” I went over to his bed and laid back; pulling my skirts up a little, I said, “Do with me as you please. Just don’t call the guard….”

He smiled with the satisfaction of knowing he was getting his way, and then he approached the bed. I was terrified, but at least he kept his word. When he was finished with me, he shoved me out into the hallway and locked himself inside—he wasn’t going to turn me in for stealing from him. I was safe—for now.

WOWZA! I certainly didn't expect that! Should've stuck with the potions and made some money there, just to keep things safe. I hope Syl has learned her lesson...never seduce a man without Cutter there to help you...is that the lesson? A brilliant chapter, keep up the good work!

Sorry it took so long to get over here and read, this month has been unbearably hectic so far.

It is shocking to think of the Syl in game going through all this, and I keep wondering if it is what eventually drives her to set up that underground sanctuary with the tunnel system leading into the Palace. Great Write !!

“Last I checked, honey, you ain’t a customer.”
rimshot please!

Arwen Syl tried the same stunt on the same guy twice! Doh! She really needs to pay more attention to their faces! It ended predictably. Poor girl. This is certainly quite the change from her sheltered life in the palace.

hazmick: Of course that's the lesson! What other lesson could she learn from this?

mALX: This, perhaps, and many other things contributes to Syl's paranoia... She's living a hard life, unfortunately...

SubRosa: I think with Sharag's line there, Syl got her pride hurt a little, eh?

Yeah, she wasn't really paying close attention, was she? She was pretty disoriented, most likely... Sadly, there is more struggling on the way for her, before things get better....



Chapter 9.3—Desperation

After being caught by the Nord, there was no way I was going to try that little stunt again. Not without Cutter, anyway. But now I was left in an even more desperate situation, and I had to stay on the streets that night. I found some shelter in an alley, keeping myself hidden behind some crates, but I couldn’t sleep. The ground was damp and cold, just like the air, and I was terrified in such a situation. I shivered, pulling my now tattered and dirty shawl around myself, closing my eyes to ignore the insects that were flying and crawling all over the place. Mosquitoes bit me anywhere they could find bare skin, and I wanted to cry because I was so afraid of being on the streets. When I felt something crawling on my ankle, I screamed and leapt up, running from that place until I was near the inn again.

It was so cold that night, and a light rain was beginning to fall. There was no way I was going to sleep on the streets. But the only other option I could see at that moment was to prostitute myself at the inn. A shiver ran down my spine when I thought about the spider that had been on my ankle before, and I decided that I would rather sleep with a stranger than to sleep with insects in the mud.

When I went into the tavern, there was a lot more commotion than there had previously been. The larger amount of people meant there was more to choose from, and it didn’t take long for some of the men to show an interest in me. I felt a mixture of embarrassment and shame when I accepted an offer and followed the man up to his room. I was grateful it was quickly over with, and I had earned myself 12 drakes for my services. But that was still not enough for even one night at the inn, so I had to go back down to the tavern and find another man to provide my services to. This would become a nightly ritual, necessary for my survival during that period in my life.

I learned quickly to ask for the money up front, because I had a couple of customers leave after having me, without having paid. It infuriated me, but I felt helpless in my current situation. At least there was a pretty steady flow of customers, because there were people who were constantly moving around through the Isles. Back then, it was almost too easy for people to get into the Realm, whether they were welcome or not, and most of the men I went with I would never see again. There were a few times when I ran into men from my father’s court, and they could easily recognize me. At first, I was worried. But then I found that those men were just as eager to pay for me as any other. There was no such thing as a gentleman in bed.

I never had a problem finding customers, and before long I was making enough money to do more than just survive, and I had my own room at the inn. There were plenty of men around who were more than willing to pay a good price, in order to have their way with an attractive young woman, no-strings-attached. All I had to do was look good, show a little skin, and drop subtle hints that I was available. Then the men would come to me in order to live out their darkest fantasies, or simply for a quick fix. The job was easy, and it paid well. The best part was the sense of anonymity between me and my customers—save for the ones from my father’s court. The men didn’t care who I was or where I was from, as long as they could have their way with me for awhile. And for the time being, that was just what I needed.



A couple of weeks went by without hearing from Cutter, and I was still bothered by the way she had acted toward me that night I slept with Dumag. She was the best friend I had ever had in Crucible, and one of the few who were loyal, and I didn’t want our friendship to come to an end over petty disagreements. I hoped I had given her enough time to cool off, if indeed she was upset with me, and I went to the smith shop to talk to her one afternoon.

When I went in, I nearly ran into Ushnar, who was sitting on the floor, playing and giggling with his puppy. I playfully tussled with his hair and said hello as I walked past him, heading toward Cutter and Morga at the other end of the chamber. Morga was showing Cutter how to work with some kind of dark metallic material, and they both glanced up at me when I approached them.

“Hello, Syl,” Morga greeted me with a smile.

“Hello, Morga,” I replied, glancing at Cutter, who looked away without as much as a polite greeting. That didn’t bode well. But I tried to ignore it, and continued talking to the master. “May I speak with Cutter?”

“Sure,” Morga answered, apparently unaware of Cutter’s anger toward me. “Just give us a few minutes to finish up, and then she’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks,” I replied, noticing as Cutter let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. Her attitude made me start to feel nervous, but I continued ignoring it, and went over to Ushnar, to ask him about his new puppy.

When they were finished, Morga sent Cutter my way. She came over to me, wiping her hands on her blacksmith’s apron, and asking, “You wanted to talk to me?”

I stood up and nodded my head, and Cutter told me we could talk in her chamber.

“Well, what is it?” she asked, once we were alone. “It’s been really busy the last couple of days, so I don’t really have much time for idle chatter, you know? Morga’s teaching me to work with madness ore.”

Her manner was abrupt, and I felt a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I don’t understand this, Cutter,” I finally said, after trying to think of how to start.

“Understand what?”

“This,” I replied. “The other night, when Dumag wanted us to…do things with each other…. I don’t understand why you are angry with me. I mean, why were you so offended that I didn’t want to do things like that with you? Are you just trying to please Dumag, by doing whatever he wants?”

“It’s not about Dumag, Syl,” she said with a sigh.

“Then what is it about?”

“Don’t you get it?” she asked, losing her patience. “Do you really not know?”

“No, Cutter, I don’t know,” I replied. “You’re not being very open with me, and I’m lost.”

She let out another sigh and sat on the side of the bed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “Syl, I…I like you. I like you a lot.”

“And I like you, too, Cutter. That’s why we’re friends.”

“Are you really that naïve? Syl, I don’t want us just to be friends. I…I’m in love with you.”

Cutter’s confession left me even more stunned and confused, and I had not been expecting such an explanation. I didn’t know what to say, and all I could think of was, “But…I thought you liked men?”

“I do,” she said with a shrug. She appeared to be vulnerable, which was so unlike her. “But I also like women. I like both, and I have for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, it confused me. My father nearly beat me to death when he caught me kissing the neighbor’s daughter in the barn, when I was twelve. He sent me to live with my uncle, who forced himself on me nearly every night. My father knew, but he said it would teach me a lesson about where I belonged. I hated living there, forced to do chores around the house while my uncle sat on his rump all day, eating and drinking with friends. So, when I was fifteen, I finally decided I’d had enough, and I murdered my uncle and ran away. Morga found me wandering the streets, and she took me in. I took an interest in her work, so that’s when she decided to train me as her apprentice.”

“You never told me all of this,” I responded. “I thought you came to Crucible with the intention to be an apprentice.”

She shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it, you know? Some people just wouldn’t understand.”

I was quiet for a moment, as I tried to think of something to say.

“I’m sorry,” Cutter said suddenly. “I can see that you’re not interested in me that way, and I understand. I just had hoped that…maybe you could love me, too. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. It confuses me more now than anything else before.”

“Cutter,” I said slowly, trying to be honest without hurting her feelings, “it’s not you. I like men. I only like men…in that way, I mean.”

She nodded slowly and turned her face away, almost ashamed. She might have even been trying to hide tears, as she was never one to show those kinds of emotions to anyone. “You can go, if you want,” she said in a quiet voice. “I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Instead of leaving, I walked over to sit beside her, taking her hand and smiling slightly. She looked at me, surprised that I wasn’t running away from her as fast as I could go. “Cutter, I’m your friend. I don’t care that you like women and men the same. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Not even that I said I’m in love with you?”

“Well, I’ll admit that it does make me feel a little uncomfortable…. But as long as you understand that I can never feel the same, and as long as you’re okay with it, then…I’m okay with it, too.”

For the first and only time in all our lives, I saw a tear slip down Cutter’s cheek. She smiled then, and threw her arms around me, grateful that I was not going to abandon our friendship because of this. When she had us become blood-sisters, she had meant it when she said we were bonded for life. Even though we have since had a falling out and we rarely speak to each other these days, we will always share a bond that goes deeper than we ever thought was possible.

Hooray for Cutter! I'm happy that the two Bosmeri have managed to sort things out between them, Syl needs all the friends she can get at the moment. Now they can both get back to business

I particularly enjoyed seeing Ushnar in this chapter, showing his love of dogs from an early age. Maybe that puppy ends up being his Skinned Hound? I'm interested in the reason for his fear of cats, is that something you shall be visiting?

GAAAAAH !!! What reason could there possibly be????? HUH????? ROFL !!!!


I too thought it was a great touch to show Ushnar's beginnings with dogs. Syl redeemed herself in my eyes a bit with this chapter, Great Write!

"What a lovely dog, mind if I stroke him"......"I honestly didn't mean to set that dog on fire!"

SPEW !!! What could that mean? ROFL !!!

Poor Syl! Teresa could have given her some pointers on finding a good place to squat. I wonder what that was curling up against her ankle? A cat, or a rat!

So back to the tavern it is, where Syl has already learned some of the harsh realities of prostitution, such as being stiffed by her customers (I tried to avoid the pun, but there is no way around it).

The real gem here is of course Syl's utter cluelessness concerning Cutter's feelings for her. Yep, sometimes people can be just that blind to another affections, no matter what the genders involved. I have to admit to being in that position myself once. Poor Cutter, I have also been in the same position as her. Like the song goes, Love Stinks.




Nits
forced to do chores around the house while my uncle sat on his british boat all day
It appears that one of Her Majesty's naval vessels has made its way into the Shivering Isles. Probably looking for mad King George...

hazmick:Ushnar has always been one of the few orcs I have ever liked! As for his fear of cats...we'll see.

mALX:I'm relieved she redeemed herself!Hopefully she will continue to do so, now that she's hit rock bottom--the only way to go is back up!

SubRosa:Eek! Whatever it was, I'm sure Syl never wants to find out! Especially if it was a spider...
She has inherited my arachnophobia, though I haven't really mentioned it in the story just yet, lol.

And thanks for pointing out the british boat! It's rather odd that he would keep a boat in his house, instead of using a chair!





Chapter 10.2—The Breton Farmer

My career was not entirely without gratification, and a few of my clients were actually enjoyable, though most of the time it felt like a chore and I would nearly have given anything to never have sex again. However, there was one client who left a particularly profound impact on me—a man by the name of Claude Petrick. He was an older man of somewhat limited means, but he approached me one night and asked for my services. He seemed shy about it, almost like he felt ashamed, but he offered enough drakes to satisfy me, and I went up to my room with him.

He was very impressed, and after we had finished, we lay in the bed together, and he stared up at the ceiling to recover from his awe, saying, “I haven’t been with a woman like that in years….”

I was used to such comments, many which were false, but I smiled faintly and took a sip of wine to quench my thirst. He rolled over onto his side to examine my slender form, and I saw him watching me, though I pretended not to notice.

“How old are you?” he asked suddenly. “You seem very young to be a…a…well, a…”

“A prostitute?” I finished for him, seeing that he was trying hard not to offend me. He nodded, and I smiled. “I’m eighteen. I’m quite old enough.”

“Eighteen?” he asked, somewhat shocked. “I was hoping you were at least a little older than that…. I thought elves always looked younger than they really were?”

“We do,” I replied. “When we’re older.”

“Oh…I see.” He became silent and turned over onto his back. He was bothered by my young age, but I didn’t know why. I had been with plenty of men who were his age, some even older, and none of them concerned themselves with my age.

Moving closer to him, I began kissing his chest, and he didn’t stop me. But he wouldn’t look at me. Smiling, I asked him if he wanted more. He looked at me finally, and I could see that he did. But he only sighed. “I can’t afford it. I shouldn’t have had you even once. But I couldn’t resist you…. I’ve never been good at resisting temptation. I thought I had cured myself of that flaw long ago, but…I guess I was wrong. You were too irresistible.”

“Are you married?” I inquired. He was surprised that I would even ask.

“How did you know?”

I smiled. “The married ones are the only ones that ever stay and talk. And you talk as if you are harboring guilt for having me. Your wife will be displeased.”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “She will be—if she ever finds out.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“She used to be. But now….”

“But now she’s old and marred,” I finished. All men were the same.

“Well, yes,” he replied, slowly. “But that’s not why she isn’t beautiful to me now. She is a very cold and spiteful woman, cruel to me and abusive to our children. I loved her once, but that was a very long time ago.”

“How many children do you have with her?”

He looked at me sideways and answered, “Eleven.”

I was amazed, and even somewhat disturbed. Elves could never have that many children—and thankfully. Most only conceive once or twice, some never at all. Children are very rare among our race, so they are most precious to us when they come. With humans and other races, it was not so much.

“I can’t imagine having eleven children,” I said aloud. “That’s so many….”

“Well, we humans can’t stop having children very easily, unless we stop having sex altogether….” I smiled, and he did too. Then he continued. “It’s good, though, because we live on a farm. So, there is plenty of help once they all become old enough to work.”

“A farm? Where?”

“Just outside Ashwood,” he replied. “Have you ever been there?”

“Yes,” I replied, pensively. “Many times... I have a friend who lives there.”

“Do you? Who?”

“He’s high elf. His name is Sindorin.”

“Oh, Sindorin! I know him quite well, actually. He hunts for us sometimes, and we trade—his meat for our produce and eggs. How do you know him?”

“He’s…just an old friend,” I replied. “Almost family…. H-How is he?”

“Oh, he’s well, I would imagine--though he seems more down than usual, for some reason. Spends most of his days and nights out hunting, but that’s the way he’s always been. Don’t see him all too often, ‘cept when he brings us some of his kills for trading—once a week, usually. If you want me to, I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. He…wouldn’t know me anymore.” I lay back and let out a sigh, and he knew better than to go on about it, as he saw that the subject made me uncomfortable.

“Have you ever been to a farm?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No. I’ve only ever lived in the city.”

“It’s a much different lifestyle,” he replied. “A lot of hard work. But the children don’t mind. Keeps ‘em healthy, and strong.”

“How old are they?”

“Well, my youngest, Irene, is four. But my oldest…well, he’s twenty-six.”

“Oh,” came my reply. His oldest was eight years older than me. No wonder he was somewhat disturbed when he found out my age.

He smiled and looked at me. “I’m Claude, by the way. Claude Petrick. Might I have the privilege of knowing your name?”

“I don’t usually give out that information to my clients,” I replied. Then I smiled, and said, “But I’ll make an exception, because I feel I can trust you. My name is Syl.”

“Syl,” he repeated, thoughtfully. “You have the same name as Lord Gelebor’s daughter….”

I turned away and sat on the side of the bed, saying, “It’s…just a coincidence.”

Claude eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then said, “Quite a coincidence, madwoman. Not a very common elven name, I should think. Never heard it before, other than the Duke’s daughter….”

I looked at him over my shoulder and let out a sigh. “If you know so much, then you must know that my father isn’t speaking to me now.”

“So I’ve heard. They say you tried to kill his wife.”

I rolled my eyes and got up, grabbing my clothes to get dressed. “She wasn’t his wife when it happened, and there’s a lot more to the story than what’s been circulated in the gossip circles. That murdering fetcher would have very well deserved to die by my hand.”

“Who did the Lady Alanwen murder? I’ve never heard any of this, milady.”

“She is responsible for my mother’s death; but she has my father under her spell, so he covered up her treachery and swept it under the rug. But I’ll avenge my mother’s death, when the time is right. Alanwen will not get away without punishment.”

“But, I thought that….” He stopped himself, suddenly, clearing his throat with discomfort. Then he got up and came near me, taking my dress, which I was about to slip on, and laying it on the side of the bed. Then he took my face in his hand, looking down at me with caring eyes. “I believe you shall have your vengeance one day, madwoman. But do be careful about it, when it happens, as I should hate to have something happen to such a fine young woman. And I promise, I shall not tell a soul about anything you have said to me, nor about your identity. I shall take it to the grave with me.”

“I believe you speak honestly, Mr. Petrick,” I said, looking into his sincere brown eyes. “A rarity, indeed….”

He smiled. “What am I worth, if not my word?”

“I like you, Mr. Petrick,” I said suddenly. “If you want, I’ll let you have me for the remainder of the night, free of charge. What do you say?”

“Well, I would love that, milady, but…wouldn’t you be losing out on other customers?”

I shrugged. “I have enough for now. One time won’t make any difference to my survival. Do you want me then, or not? The offer won’t last forever.”

He smiled, and replied, “How could I refuse such a generous offer?”

“But, there is one thing,” I said, before letting him undress me again. “You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone about this deal—if word got out, I’d go out of business.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” he replied. “You have my word.”

******

Claude Petrick was a very gentle and passionate lover, and he was more than impressed with me. Though he was in his late forties, and, being human, certainly looked his age, I grew quite fond of him over the next couple of months. He came to Crucible once every two weeks just to see me, though he really couldn’t afford it. Knowing his financial state, I let him have me for very little pay, and it quickly turned into a full-fledged affair. It did cost him, though. He had to lie to his family about why he was going to New Sheoth every other weekend, and that bothered him only because he was an honest man who loved his children.

Claude was fascinated with me—as a woman, as a lover, and as a friend. He said that I made him feel young again, and he found in me something he had not found anywhere else—a sense of freedom and a lack of judgement. He even said that he was in love with me, though he knew that I was not in love with him. But I liked him, and he made me feel good about myself again. We both found something in each other that could benefit us in one way or another, and I would always appreciate what he brought to my life.

I continued to sell myself during the week, while spending my weekends with Claude. We would sometimes just talk for hours, getting to know each other on a deeper level. And while I never fell in love with him, he held no illusions that I ever would, so he was never bothered by it. He just appreciated my acceptance of him, and I was happy to have some form of a relationship with a man for once. It had been awhile since I’d had a man who wanted more from me than just sex. Claude was a good man, and I shall never forget him.

The relationship, good as it was, would have to come to an end eventually, of course. It ended somewhat abruptly, when he simply stopped coming to me, and I never saw him again. I thought of him from time to time, hoping his life was going well, and grateful for the ray of light he had shined into mine. But for all the good my affair with Claude Petrick had brought to my life, the repercussions I would have from it would be a thousand times greater. My punishment for having that affair would devastate and change my life forever, though it was too far ahead for me ever to see it in time to stop it. For, how could I have seen what was to come…?

Hooray, Syl made a friend. Although I have never used prostitution to find friends it seems to work for her The abrupt end to Claude's visits worked well, as does the mysterious ending. I am officially intrigued.

GAAAAH !! Foreshadowing !! Urg !!! Great Chapter !!! And I have to agree, great to see Syl find a friend. Now I am eaten up wondering what the trouble it brings will be and why he stopped coming suddenly !!

Claude Petrick is certainly an interesting character. You portrayed him very well, giving him a great deal of depth, and making it easy to feel sympathy for him. He certainly had a good effect upon Syl! At least for the moment. The ending certainly leaves some ominous threads dangling...


nits:
That murdering [censored]
I suggest a forum-friendly term here, like fetcher.

hazmick: The Claude mystery makes for a really great twist later on in the story. It's my hope that by the time it all makes sense, you will have nearly forgotten about it...

mALX:I just had to give her one nice guy to make the prostitution gig less miserable for her....

SubRosa:Thanks for the tip. It's so hard, becausee while I understand the censoring, it takes away so much freedom of expression... I'll take your advice though. Fetcher is a good lore-friendly word, too.




Chapter 11.1—The Penitent One

When I arrived at the inn one Middas night, Sharag immediately cast me a dirty look, as usual. I merely smiled and set 20 drakes on the counter, which was the price for a room for the night. He begrudgingly set the only available room key on the counter, and then asked, “So, when do I get a piece of you?”

“Not even in your dreams,” I replied, reaching to grab the key with a smirk on my face. But he grabbed my hand and held it down tightly.

“You know,” he said, “you could have your rooms for free every night, if you would just give me some every once in a while.”

I pulled my hand away, along with the key, and gave him another smirk, saying, “I would never profane myself with such filth, for any price.”

Sharag only growled as I walked away, making myself comfortable on a bench near the wall. Sitting in a provocative manner, with my skirts lifted just enough to reveal a hint of my gartered thigh, it didn’t take long for me to snag my first client for the night. I winked at Sharag as I took the man to my room to service him; when the man had satisfied himself, he left and I began to get cleaned up so I could go down to wait for another customer. A few moments later, however, a knock came at the door, and I was surprised to see Sharag standing there when I opened it. He stank of beer and sweat—nothing out of the ordinary—and I had to take a step back from him in order to breathe.

“What do you want?” I asked of him, not even bothering to hide my displeasure.

“I want to have a word with you,” he replied. “Let me come in, or I’ll come in anyway.”

“I’ve not one word to throw at a dog,” I said, my well-known sharp tongue coming to play. But this only angered the beast, and he came into the room, slamming the door shut before coming at me. I didn’t have time to snatch my dagger off the night-stand before he grabbed me by the throat and shoved me back against the wall, prepared to choke the life out of me. I tried to fight him off, but he was much larger than I was, and at least twice as strong. I was no match for him without a weapon.

“You want to call me a dog one more time, you smart-mouthed little tramp?” he asked, beginning to squeeze my throat with just one hand. I began to feel faint, and my whole body tingled, as I felt the life draining from me with the loss of air. But just before I would have blacked out, he released me and I fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

Before I was able to get back up, Sharag grabbed me by the arms and nearly threw me onto the bed. I began kicking and screaming, but then he only became more violent, slapping me and holding me down with much force. “So, you can sell yourself to every man that walks through the door, but you won’t have me for any price?” he asked, holding my wrists above my head. “Fine then—go ahead and keep fighting. That’s how I like it, anyway.” He began to pull up my skirts, and he forced my legs apart. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, even before you came waltzing into my tavern with that friend o’ yours. Don’t think I don’t know who you really are, Syl.”

I managed to pull my dagger off the table nearby, having just enough time to thrust it into his side before he could stop me. Letting out a roaring yell, he grabbed the dagger from his side and looked at it, then at me. “You’re a sneaky little witch, ain’t you? No matter. I like a little pain to make it more exciting.” He slapped me across the face very hard, then tossed the dagger to the floor and healed himself with a spell. I was shocked that it hadn’t even fazed him.

As he proceeded to force himself on me, I tried screaming for help, but he covered my mouth with his big, filthy hand. It didn’t last very long, and I was relieved when he left without doing it again. Then I lay on the bed, completely still, and it was only then that I allowed my tears to fall. I tried to get off the bed, but then I collapsed to the floor and began to throw up.

I left Crucible Inn through the back entrance, not wanting to be seen, and I just began running with no destination in mind. I just wanted to get away—as far away from there as possible. I ended up in a deserted alley, where I fell to my knees in the pouring rain. I laid my face in my arms, over an old crate that was there, and wept without holding back. I had never been more humiliated and ashamed in my life, and the feelings of helplessness it left me with was terrifying. I was all alone, with no one to talk to, and I was certain that there was no one who really even cared.



Cutter was working late that night, even after Morga had gone to bed, when I came knocking on the door of the smith shop. She was surprised to see me, but what shocked her more than anything was that I looked disheveled and dirty, soaked to the bone and my eyes red from crying.

“Syl?” she asked, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

I couldn’t think of what to say, but when a fresh tear slipped down my cheek, she put her arm around me, and pulled me inside without waiting for an answer. It was then that I threw my arms around her neck and began sobbing again, saying, “Cutter, he raped me….”

“What?!” she gasped in alarm, taking me to sit in a chair. Then she knelt by my feet, and said, “Tell me what happened.”

I pushed back my tears and swallowed hard, then began, “At the inn, where I was working….”

“Working? What do you mean?”

Sniffing a little and looking down at my hands in shame, I hesitated before saying, “It started by accident, sort of…. I was…working as…a prostitute.”

This was news to her, and she raised her brow in surprise. But she didn’t condemn or judge me—instead, her face softened, and she put her arms around me in a warm and loving manner. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “This wasn’t your fault, Syl. You have every right to say no to anyone, whether you are working as a prostitute or not. Tell me who did this to you. Did you know him?”

I nodded slowly and took another deep breath. “It was…Sharag gro-Ghoth. I wouldn’t have him, so he forced himself on me in my room there….” I threw my arms around her again, and cried, “Oh, Cutter, it was awful! It hurt so much, and I felt so helpless…. I’m so ashamed of myself….”

She took my face in her hands, forcing me to look in her eyes, and said, “No. You are not allowed to feel shame, Syl. I forbid it. You are not at fault for this, not even a little. That Sharag gro-Ghoth is a nasty, terrible orc! He would have done this to you even if you hadn’t been a prostitute. You are not the first woman he’s forced himself on…” She stopped for a moment, glaring past me as her anger began to boil to the surface, while I looked up at her, wondering if she knew from experience. Then she spoke again, saying, “That beast is going to pay for doing this to you. We must make him see that it’s not all right to treat any woman this way.”

“What can we do?” I asked, feeling as if everything were hopeless. “I can’t tell my father…. He’d kill me, I know he would.”

“We can take care of Sharag ourselves!” she said, a delightful smile crossing her lips. “It’ll be easy—and fun. But you’ve got to clean yourself up and be willing to put on a show.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no offense, sweetie, but you’ve got to stop wallowing in self-pity long enough to do something about it. Get angry. Get revenge! But first, put on a smile and bring out that delicious little seductress that you’ve always been.”

“Cutter, what are you talking about?”

She smiled. “I’ve got a plan.”



We crept through the shadows and made our way back to the inn, going in through the back entrance, to the guests’ quarters upstairs. I let Cutter into the room I had, and we quickly cleaned up the mess. She helped me get tidied up, and then I got myself emotionally prepared to take on the role that was required of me. With Cutter’s sort of pep-talk, I let my anger come forward, to get past the fear and the pain of what he had done to me. Then I put on the mask of the seductress, covering the anger that was seething just below the surface, and made my way downstairs while Cutter waited in the room.

Sharag was behind the counter, laughing with a male customer over some lewd jokes, when he saw me come back into the tavern. A crude and satisfied smile spread across his face, and he watched me closely as I made my way toward him.

“Back for more, eh?” he said with a snide grin. But when I went around the counter and took him by the front of his shirt, pressing myself against him, he stopped for a moment in surprise.

Forcing a look of desire in my eyes, and a smile on my face, I said, “Oh, Sharag, you have opened my eyes in such new and exciting ways. I didn’t realize you could be such a man.”

After the initial shock wore off, he smiled slowly. “I knew you’d come around eventually. Once you’ve had orc, you never go back!” He kicked his leg as he laughed, and I struggled to hide my disgust as I watched him. But then he stopped, and pointed down the counter at his brother, saying, “I’ll just leave Borzol in charge again. Hey, Borzol! Take over for a few. I’ve got some…business to handle.”

Borzol grunted and nodded his head before turning back to his girlfriend, while Sharag led me back upstairs. Cutter hid behind the door in my room, concealed by the shadows, so he didn’t notice her when we went inside. I carefully moved myself around him so that his back still faced the door, then I pulled him toward the bed, as if I were eager to have him.

Fighting back tears and doing my best to pretend I was into it, I waited eagerly for Cutter to attack, as planned. She sprang on him suddenly from behind, slipping a leather cord around his neck and pulling back tightly. He began fighting and thrashing as I pushed him away, then I fell to the floor and used all my will not to vomit again. Cutter continued to manage him herself, hanging on his back while he thrashed around wildly, trying to get her off. He slammed her back against the wall and she fell, but I pulled out my dagger and went at them, plunging it into Sharag’s back before he was able to attack her. He gasped and fell to his knees.

Letting my wrath come to the surface, I looked at him with a cold and hateful sneer as I went around to face him. “You made a big mistake when you messed with me, you disgusting son of a pig. I hope you rot in hell, fetcher!”

Cutter got up and kicked him to the floor, and the two of us stabbed him to death, likely going over-board in our fury. Then we cleaned the crimson liquid off ourselves and both spat on his bloody corpse, before running out into the night.

We returned to the smith shop, and Cutter took me up to her chamber where we talked excitedly about our kill. Some would say that the right thing to do would have been to go to my father and have Sharag dealt with by the law of the land. But my father’s law would have done the same thing that we did, so in our minds, we were following it. We’re madwomen, Cutter and I, and we did what most madwomen would have done. Sharag had it coming, and we were proud of ourselves for giving him what he deserved. We’re just lucky we never got caught.

That...was..briliant! So this is where Cutter gets her strange obsession from, you are doing a wonderful job of filling in the backstories of characters that I never really take much notice of (as much as I hate to admit it).

One bad guy down and another memorable...client...for the record.

I also cannot wait for more of the Claude mystery!

hazmick:Thanks! I...don't really know what else to say, to be honest. I love that you're enjoying this. It's very reassuring.


Chapter 11.2—The Penitent One

The events with Sharag more or less put an end to my prostitution, and I knew that it was time to face my father once again. I had long since forgiven him for choosing Alanwen over me, but I wasn’t sure if I was really ready to face him. More than anything, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to accept his marriage to the woman I believed was my mother’s killer. But it bothered me immensely, and I longed to make things right between us again. He was my father, and up until Alanwen came in and destroyed everything, we’d had such a good and strong relationship. I missed what we’d had.

If I went and begged forgiveness, would I be surrendering myself to Alanwen, as well as to my father? Or, had I let her win by staying away for so long? It seemed that either way, Alanwen came out as the winner. But which case was worse? That’s when it hit me, and I decided. Alanwen preferred it the way it had been for the last two years, having my father all to herself, with no one to interfere. If I stayed away, she was winning. But if I returned, with the sincere desire to seek redemption from my father, I had a better chance of finding out a way to pull the rug out from under her, and knocking her down off her pedestal. Yes, I had to go back. I had stayed away for much too long.

The House of Dementia was little changed in the two years since I’d been there. Everything remained as my mother had chosen to decorate, and that came as a relief for me. My father sat in his throne in the main hall, looking much older than I remembered; had he been worrying about me since he had disowned me? Alanwen sat to his right, dressed in the finest gown that money could buy. Hmm, I thought to myself, almost laughing at the irony, we’re dressed to match. We were both wearing dark violet satin.

Lucian Jarol, my father’s loyal steward and most trusted friend, sat to my father’s left, looking bored and exhausted, ready for a nap. When all of them saw me approaching, though, every one of them perked up, and their eyes watched me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as I bowed low to my father. Alanwen did not appear to be very pleased that I was there, but I did my best to ignore her, as the mere sight of her was enough to make my blood boil.

“Well, well,” my father said, expressing his surprise. “So, the dissident daughter comes to redeem herself? Or am I mistaken? Speak, madwoman. What brings you to House Dementia?”

“My lord,” I said, bowing yet again to show my humble submission to the man I had revered almost as much as the Madgod himself for most of my life. “I beseech you, Father, for a moment of your time that we may speak in privacy.”

He took a moment to consider my request; then he gave a small nod before rising from his throne to come down to me. Holding out his hand, he watched me closely as I pressed it to my lips. He was looking for any signs which might lead him to believe that I was insincere. Feeling satisfied enough to trust me, he offered his arm.

Alanwen began to rise, intending to follow—she seemed eager to prevent me from speaking to my father alone. But he ordered her to stay, and led me to the private garden, where we could be completely alone—except for the two elite Dark Seducer guards that were always on patrol there.

We walked in silence for awhile, and he wouldn’t even look at me. But he held my arm tightly, his hand over mine, and I knew that he was relieved to finally see me again. He had missed me. I could see that he was holding back. He wanted to speak—to embrace me. But he also wanted to be strong and hold onto his pride. I would have to be the one to begin, though it went against custom. So, I forced myself to stop, and he finally looked at me, wondering why I had. Our eyes met, and he could see that I was truly sorry for having displeased him. That’s when he let go and embraced me, saying, “Oh, Syl, I’ve missed you so. You don’t know how hard it has been to deny you for so long. You are my daughter, my blood—my pride and my joy. But what you did to Alanwen—that was wrong.”

“I know, Ada, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so carried away.”

“I think it was more than just carried away, Syl—you nearly killed her!”

“But, Ada, she has to be punished for what she did to Mama. She killed her! Murdered her in cold blood—and then you go and marry the woman, giving her everything that drove her to commit that crime in the first place.”

“Syl,” he said with a sigh, “Alanwen had nothing to do with your mother’s death. I’ve told you that time and time again. It was…an accident.”

“An accident?” I scoffed. “How was it an accident? Mama died from drinking poisoned wine, on my tenth birthday for Madgod’s sake! There was no accident. If you know why she is dead—if Alanwen truly had nothing to do with it—then why won’t you tell me what happened? My whole world came crashing down that day, Ada. It hasn’t been the same ever since. Alanwen took my mother away from me that day, and then two years ago she took you away from me, too.”

When I had said my piece, my father sighed and reached for my cheek, touching me softly. I closed my eyes just long enough to flush away the tears that had begun to build. “You have grown to look so much like her, Syl,” he said, in a gentle voice. “There’s no trace left of that innocent and naïve little girl I raised, is there?”

“No, Ada. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

He sighed again and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he took my hand, pressing it to his lips. “Perhaps you are ready, then, to know the truth. Come. I must show you something.”

He laced my arm through his and took me to his quarters. Once there, he loosened a brick in the wall to reveal a small cavity I had never known was there; a clever place to hide precious treasures and deadly secrets, which I have often used, myself. He pulled out a small wooden box, using a tiny key which he wore on a leather cord around his neck to unlock it. He seemed hesitant as he searched through the contents to locate a worn, faded note. Handing it to me, he let out a sigh, and said, “This holds the truth about your mother’s death. You…may want to sit when you read it. Here….”

He pulled out a chair for me, which I hesitated to seat myself in. I was afraid of what I would find in that note, though I was eager to know what really happened to my mother. My father seemed reluctant, but he knew that he couldn’t keep the truth from me any longer, as it was tearing our family apart. Sometimes I wished he hadn’t told me, for it was more difficult to bear. Just as the lies had torn us apart, the truth would tear my soul into shreds, and I thought I could never come to terms with what had happened on that terrible, devastating day when I was only ten years old.

Once I was seated, I carefully unfolded the parchment and began to read what appeared to be a note written in my mother’s hand.

“My husband, my child, I am sorry that I must leave you like this. But I cannot bear to live any longer. It may seem hard and painful for you both, but I know that you will be better off without me. My little Syl, forgive me for choosing this wondrous day of you birth as the day of my death. It was never my intention, but I cannot continue to be strong, even for you. Perhaps one day you will understand, and perhaps you will be able to find it in your heart to forgive me. I can only hope it will be so. Please know that even now, I love you both more than words can say, and I do this for you as well as for me. I’m sorry. Madgod, forgive me for what I am about to do…. Adrial.”

It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I couldn’t take it in all at once. I dropped the note, and my father bent down to retrieve it, and to offer me comfort. I began shaking my head, quietly saying, “No. No, it…it cannot be true.”

“Syl,” my father said, reaching to put his arms around me. But I pushed him away and rose from my chair.

“No, I won’t believe it!” I cried, as the first tears began to sting at my eyes. I tried to run, but he held me tight and wouldn’t let me go, even when I tried to pull away, saying, “No….”

I started to go weak at the knees, and he knelt on the floor with me, still continuing to hold me, and saying, “I know it’s hard to believe, Syl, but it’s true. Madgod, I wish that it wasn’t. I’m sorry. I wish I had foreseen it, so that I could have stopped it—but there was nothing I could do. Nothing any of us could do….”

“How could she?” I cried, feeling anger toward my mother for the very first time. “How could she leave me like that? How could she betray me? I thought she loved me…. I…thought she cared!”

“Syl, your mother was a very confused woman. She was depressed, and lonely, and what she did was selfish. But she did love you. She just…didn’t want to live anymore, and I don’t know why.”

“You did this!” I cried suddenly, getting up and pointing at him with an accusing finger. “You are the one who beat her! You are the one who had affairs all the time! You drove her to take her own life! It’s your fault!”

He got up slowly and nodded his head in agreement, much to my surprise. “Yes,” he said, sighing with apparent remorse. “I did. I did drive her there, Syl, you’re right. And I live with that guilt every day of my life. Don’t you think I would give anything to bring your mother back? To make it so that she hadn’t done what she did? Or, at least to make it so that she would have done it on some day other than your birthday, so that you could have a birthday every year without the shadow of that tragedy hovering over you like a thief in the night. I know that I was wrong to treat your mother as I did, and I have served penance for it every day since. But I was not the one to slip the poison into her cup that day, Syl. She did that herself.”

He stopped then and took a deep breath. Then he continued, “I wish to Sheogorath I could give your mother back to you, Syl. But all I can offer you is your father. I am still here for you, and I pray that you have come back to me for good this time. I would hate to see you leave again, knowing that you might never return. I have been worried sick ever since that day I cast you out onto the streets.”

I stood there a moment; then all at once I ran to him, into his arms, crying bittersweet tears at our reunion. I forgave my father for everything that day, and he also forgave me.

Though it was hard, I apologized to Alanwen. She didn’t seem all that thrilled with my apology, but she accepted it with a stiff nod and excused herself. My father seemed uncomfortable, but he told me she was just not feeling well that day. I didn’t believe it, but I was not about to argue. I was sure that she was jealous and disappointed that I was being accepted back into the court, and back into my father’s life. I couldn’t see any other reason for her attitude.

My father practically begged me to come back home, to live in the palace again. He promised to give me all the luxury and comfort that I had been accustomed to before. The only thing he wanted was for me to promise him my loyalty and obedience, which meant living under his law. I didn’t want to be out on the streets again, so I readily agreed to his terms.



Though I knew she was not responsible for my mother’s death, Alanwen and I still didn’t get along. We tolerated one another only because we had to, for my father’s sake, but that didn’t mean we were without disagreements that very easily led to heated arguments. She was not fond of me because she knew well of my hot-temper, having almost been killed because of it, and she was jealous that I had won back my father’s heart. She knew that despite everything, he still loved me more than he would ever love her. But she also knew that I was not immune from disgrace; one fatal slip, and I could lose Ada’s favor forever. And did she ever try to make that happen...

Sometimes she would try to befriend me, even going so far as to be motherly, and when I became cross, I appeared to be the one who was causing trouble. It was a clever ruse for her to devise, but I saw right through it, and that’s what vexed me the most. She would pretend to take the role of loving mother toward me, knowing that place could never be filled by anyone other than my real mother. Only Muurine came close, and that was because she had been like a second mother to me for as long as I could remember.

Along with the loving mother act that she put on, Alanwen also took on the role of concerned mother. This bothered me even more, because I knew that she was using that to make me feel poorly about myself, while appearing to genuinely care about my well-being and my appearance. Usually I held my tongue and tried to ignore her, but finally she had gone too far, and I couldn’t take it anymore. It happened while at supper one evening, only a few days into my return home.

“Why do you insist on wearing such provocative dresses all the time?” she asked suddenly, apparently displeased by my choice of clothing for the evening. The point of no return happened when she added, “You look like a harlot.”

My father stopped feeding himself and looked up in surprise, back and forth between the two of us, and waiting for a reaction from me. I sat there frozen with spoon in hand, looking down at my soup and trying hard not to give in to my fury. She really knew how to push my buttons.

My jaw tensed as I tried to brush it off, but I’d had enough. Finally, I dropped my spoon into the bowl and slammed my hand down on the table as I got up from my chair. Glaring hotly at Alanwen, who sat there with a smug grin on her face, I gritted my teeth, and replied, “Why do you insist on being such a contemptuous [censored] all the time?”

“Syl!” my father cried rising to reprimand me, as Alanwen pretended to be shocked by my reaction. “That is completely uncalled for. Apologize this once!”

“No,” I answered, shocked that he was taking her side. “Not until she apologizes first, for calling me a harlot.”

“I did not call you a harlot,” she argued, “but you look like one with that get-up.”

“Ada!” I said, wanting him to step up and defend me.

“Alanwen, that is unnecessary,” he said. Was that the best he could do? Then he turned back to me, “But Syl, that doesn’t excuse your behavior, nor your language. Apologize to my wife, or leave this table now.”

“No!” I said again, crossing my arms in a stubborn manner. “I will not apologize for speaking honestly about how I feel. All Alanwen has done since I returned is call me names and put me down. She treats me like pond scum, and then uses her pretty blue eyes to make you believe I am making all of it up!”

“That’s not true, you little viper!” she cried, standing up and pointing at me.

“Alanwen!” my father cried.

“See what I mean?” I exclaimed, pointing back at her. “That’s what I’m talking about! She’s a conniving little snake, trying to pit you against me, so that you’ll make me leave again and never let me come back!”

“Liar!” Alanwen cried. “She’s making that up! She’s never liked me and she’s trying to destroy our love so she can have you all to herself!”

“How dare you!” I cried back at her. “How can you just lie right to his face? Ada, why do you take this from her? She’s a deceitful witch!”

“Enough!” my father cried, pounding his fist on the table in order to get us to stop. “Alanwen, you will not refer to my daughter as a harlot or a liar. If you love and respect me, then you must also do the same for her. And that goes for you, too, Syl. You need to learn to control your temper. It is not very becoming for a lady.”

“But it’s all right for a man?” I retorted.

“That is not the issue,” he began to say. But I scoffed.

“Oh, of course not!” I snapped. “Men can yell and curse and beat others into submission, but a lady is just supposed to keep quiet and obedient, taking every blow like a martyr and a mindless supplicant!”

“Syl, you are forgetting your place.”

“Oh, yes,” I replied sarcastically, adding to it with an exaggerated curtsey. “Forgive me, Father, for not remembering where I belong. I forget sometimes that my place is beneath your boot!”

“Syl!” he called, as I began to storm off. “Syl, come back here right this instant! Syl! If you walk out of this palace, young lady, don’t you ever come back!”

I ignored him as I continued walking away, but I took his warning seriously. I went to my quarters and shut myself in, not coming out for the rest of the night. This was a bad start to my redemption, but all of us would get over it. We had to, if we ever hoped to live together in peace.

Poor Syl! One cannot help but to feel sorry for her, even knowing what she will turn out to be. She has really hit her lowest spot I think, after being raped by the innkeeper. That was one tough orc! I liked the fact that he was not even fazed by being stabbed. It really brought home what a beast he is.

Her revenge with Cutter was sweet. It was certainly never so well deserved. Here we do see one of the steps Syl has taken to her ultimate fate as Duchess. After this, I expect she will discover that she has a taste for indulging in vengeance. She certainly has plenty of targets in her father's palace...

So a suicide note from Syl's mother. I wonder who wrote it though, her mother, or Alanwen? or perhaps Syl's father? There is one way for her to find out. If she goes to the Hill of Suicides and finds her mother there, she will know.

Finally, a wonderful cat fight and hissy fit by Syl after her return to the palace. I loved the fact that she threw her own father's behavior in his face like she did. I still cannot wait until she kills both him and Alanwen.


nits:
After the initial shock wore off, he smiled slowly. “I knew you’d come around eventually.
Once you’ve had orc, you never go back!” He kicked his leg as he laughed, and I struggled to hide my disgust as I watched him. But then he stopped, and pointed down the counter at his brother, saying, “I’ll just leave Borzol in charge again. Hey, Borzol! Take over for a few. I’ve got some…business to handle.”
It looks like the forum threw in a manual line break after eventually.

SubRosa: Poor Syl, indeed! But you're right--knowing she will one day rise to be the most powerful woman in Dementia does make it easier to go through this very painful stage in young Syl's life with her. But it is times like these that helped condition her for her role as the paranoid duchess--after all, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger...or insane...right?

Also--I finally got around to fixing the head-hopping in Chapter 8. I hope it turns out better, anyway. Again, thank you for pointing it out to me. The nits you and Acadian have been good about pointing out have been so much appreciated, because it helps me to improve on my writing and be more aware of how I put the scenes together. Thank you.



Chapter 12—Too Early Seen Unknown…

“She actually called you a harlot?” Muurine asked in surprise, as she poured our tea one afternoon, a couple days later, when I had gone to her house to visit.

“Well, she said that I looked like one,” I answered, “but it’s all a matter of word-play. To say that I look like one is the same as calling me one.”

“And your father took her side?” she asked, taking her seat. When I nodded, she shook her head and sighed, saying, “’Tis a shame, I think, that your father would allow his wife to say such things. But he allows her to do almost anything she wants, as far as I’ve seen. She gets away with a lot more than your mother ever did, that’s for certain.”

As she took her first sip of tea, I thought about what she had just said, realizing it was true. My mother had gotten beaten for just about anything and everything, but Alanwen was walking around there with her head held high, acting like an exalted queen.

“You know, Muurine,” I said suddenly, “you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said simply.

But I went on, saying, “There has to be more to it than what meets the eye. She is up to something…. Even if she didn’t murder my mother to take her place, Alanwen is not a complete innocent. It must be sorcery. She must have him under a spell of some sort, to get away with everything so easily. It is possible, isn’t it? There are spells which can do that aren’t there?”

“Well, yes,” she replied thoughtfully. “Many a clever witch has used spells from the school of Illusion to trick men into loving them, but…Syl, I’m not sure that that is what is going on. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think Alanwen has enough knowledge of spell-casting to charm your father so successfully. No offence, but as poor a spell-caster as you are, I think that Alanwen knows even less about the arcane arts than you do. I don’t think she’s even capable.”

“But I’ve seen her make potions and poisons—she’s a very skilled alchemist.”

“Yes, but alchemy and spell-casting are really two completely different types of arcane knowledge. You should know that. Even the most ignorant mage can learn alchemy, if he has a mind to—but it takes real talent and passion for someone to master spell-casting.”

“Yes, you’re a rarity, indeed,” I said, to which she smiled and shrugged her shoulder.

“I may be one of the most skilled sorcerers in Dementia, but I am not the best.”

“I never said you were,” I replied, in a tease.

“Gee, thanks,” she responded. “Aren’t you a flatterer?” We both paused to drink some of our tea, and then she let out a sigh. “Alanwen is not such a bad woman, Syl,” she said, much to my surprise. “I think you judge her too harshly. I don’t why you insist on hating her so.”

“Since when did you become her biggest fan?”

“I didn’t say I adore her, Syl. I’m just saying she isn’t as awful as you like to think. She’s certainly no saint—I’m not excusing all of the things she has said and done. But I don’t hate Alanwen, and I’ve actually found her to be a fairly decent woman. I’ve just never expressed this to you, because you are always going on about how much you hate her.”

“I do hate her, and I always will. She may not have literally been responsible for my mother’s death, Muurine, but Alanwen played a part in it as much as my father did. If my father had been faithful, and if Alanwen had not come in and interfered, my mother would still be here. It wasn’t until after Alanwen came into the picture that my mother started slipping away. And I will always hold her partially accountable for my mother’s death, even if it was a suicide.”

We both became quiet after that, as there was really nothing more we could say. And after having spoken so openly about my mother again, I felt a renewed pain and even a sense of guilt. Would I have been able to do anything to stop it? Could I have said something, done something, to have convinced my mother not to take her own life, if I had known that it was coming? Had I not been a good enough daughter to make my mother want to stay?

“I’m sorry,” I said suddenly, rising from my chair. “I have to go.”

“Syl,” said Muurine, standing up to stop me. “Please, don’t go. I didn’t mean to upset you--.”

“It’s not you, Muurine,” I assured her. “I…just need some time to think. We can talk some more later. Tonight at the party, perhaps.”

“All right then,” she said, nodding in agreement even though she was still troubled by my sudden change in mood, “tonight. I’ll see you then.”

We embraced briefly, and then I hurried out, trying to suppress the feelings of immense pain and guilt that were brought out by my memories of the past. No matter what the truth was, my mother’s death had always haunted me, and it always would. Nothing could ever erase the pain of losing my mother so abruptly and at such a time as I did. It certainly didn’t help that I had been the one to find her like that. I shall never forget that awful sight; it haunts my dreams even to this day….



When I went through the door from Crucible to the palace grounds, I heard the croak of a bird, and I looked to see a shinning black raven perched upon a branch nearby. I watched it for a moment, as it also watched me, and then it croaked once more before taking off. It was then I heard voices not far ahead, and I soon came upon two members of the Court of Mania, who were conversing merrily together at the foot of the grand staircase.

The moment the two of them saw me, they stopped talking and just began staring. It made me terribly uncomfortable, the way they continued to gape at me as if they’d never seen a Demented woman before, and I kept my distance. What made it even worse was that they began talking about me, and I almost returned to Crucible just to wait for them to leave. But then the fair-haired man took his Bosmer companion by the arm and began leading him away, to return to their wing of the palace. As they left, the Bosmer kept turning to look at me, but his friend continued pulling him away.

There was something vaguely familiar to me about the Bosmer, but I couldn’t make the connection. By the way he was staring it seemed he thought the very same thing about me. While his Nord friend looked at me with mistrust, the Bosmer looked at me with something more along the lines of surprise and disbelief. I had not been close enough to them to recognize him, but there was something which struck me about him from afar, and I was certain that I had seen him before….



Thadon was enjoying the fine afternoon out on the palace grounds, talking and joking with his manservant and friend, Kjell, when Syl came onto the scene. He saw her enter the grounds from Crucible, and he knew that she was Demented because of the distinct fashion of her clothes, so very different from his own bright-colored regalia. He had never paid much attention to Demented women, naturally, though he had intimate relations with a whole league of Manic women. After all, in Mania, indiscriminate sex was not only common—it was a way of life. But there was a limit, even for them, and that’s where they usually drew the line—Demented women were off-limits, and for good reason.

Kjell had his back facing Syl when she entered, so he didn’t see her at first. But Thadon noticed her right away, and for more reasons than her apparent grace and beauty—much to his astonishment, he recognized her as his muse! It was the dream woman he saw whenever he closed his eyes—he was sure of it. But could it be?

“Who is that?” he whispered suddenly, gazing at her in amazement and wonder, hardly able to believe his eyes. Was he dreaming again?

This caused Kjell to turn his head to look over his shoulder at her, and he was immediately wary of the dark-clothed beauty walking a distance away and staring at them.

“Oh! No, Master Thadon,” he cautioned, “do not even tempt yourself by looking at her. She is one of those Demented women; you know they cannot be trusted. She’ll steal your soul, the succubus! Come, we must not stay to be drawn in by her feminine wiles. I’ve known too many who have fallen prey to those she-devils, and converted to their ways!”

Kjell took him by the arm and began pulling him away, but Thadon kept resisting slightly, looking over his shoulder at her, still unable to believe it. Kjell, no doubt feared for his friend, seeing that the temptress had already begun to suck him in with her dark hair, pale skin, and slender figure. He was not going to let Thadon ruin himself over some Demented seductress, when he could have any number of trustworthy and beautiful Manic women, without breaking any rules.

Having seen his dream lady in the flesh only furthered Thadon’s obsession with her, though. Right away he went to his quarters and began a new sketch of his beloved muse. This time he drew her as he had seen her for real, with the dark but elegant Demented clothing. She was Demented, there was no denying it. He struggled with this revelation, but he couldn’t stop obsessing over her even then. It was too late—he had already seen them together, and his love for her had consumed him long before he saw her in the flesh.

His drawing of the dark lady was perfect and beautiful, and he loved this one better than all the rest because this time he knew it was her—she was, in fact, real. From that moment on, he knew that his dreams had to have been prophetic, and it was only a matter of time before they would be together. He could hardly contain his excitement at the thought, and he couldn’t wait to see her again. The next time he saw her, he was going to talk to her. He was sure that she would fall head over heels in an instant, and perhaps they would run away together, and live in Highcross or Hale. She would certainly forsake her Demented ways and marry him, and they would live happily ever after. Thadon was sure of it….



Thadon was daydreaming about his muse that evening, trying to compose a poem to her. His excitement had worn off, though, and his heart was breaking at the realization that their torn world might never allow them to be together. His poem reflected this, as it was less cheerful than usual. He tried to forget about it, but Kjell’s harsh words kept running over in his mind, “She is one of those Demented women; you know they cannot be trusted. She’ll steal your soul, the succubus!”

Feeling discouraged, he dashed out the few lines he had written and sighed. It was no use. The music was gone, thanks to Kjell and his big mouth. He could never have his beloved muse come to him in real life. Somehow he had dreamt her before he’d ever seen her, but the dream’s promise was impossible. Manics and Demented were not supposed to mingle in such a way, though there were some rare cases in which it did happen. Those were all hush-hush, though, because it was so greatly looked down upon. Between Dukes and Duchesses, it was strictly forbidden. That, he was certain, had never happened, and it surely never would, for the rulers of the two Houses were the strongest in their faith about their own side’s beliefs.

Thadon was startled when his cousin, Baenlin, who was only one year older, came suddenly bursting into the room. He was in a good mood, as usual, probably from a fresh dose of greenmote, and he had a wild plan in his mind, which Thadon had never expected.

“There you are, cousin!” he shouted, practically stumbling into the room. “Have I got an idea for tonight! You’ll never guess it, though. Go on, guess!”

Thadon shrugged and shook his head. “I have…no idea. What is it?”

Baenlin came closer and lowered his voice, looking around as if to be sure they were alone. “We’re going to a party tonight!”

Thadon rolled his eyes. “We go to a party every night, Baenlin. Please tell me something new.”

“No, but this one’s different!” Baenlin whispered loudly. “This one’s…naughty.”

Thadon laughed then got up and patted his cousin on the back. “When are they not naughty, in one form or another?”

“No, wait!” Baenlin insisted. “You have to let me finish, Thadon! This isn’t what you think!”

“Oh, really? Enlighten me, then.”

Baenlin put his arm around his cousin’s shoulder and bent in to speak in a quiet voice, but his voice rose as he went on, in a sort of crescendo as he came to the climax. “There is a court ball, celebrating the return of the Duke of Dementia’s attractive and apparently very naughty daughter, Syl—and I’ve scored us free passage to the party this very night! We’re going to party in the House of Dementia!”

“We—what? Have you gone mad?”

“Totally,” said Baenlin. “Isn’t it sublime?”

“You can’t be serious, Baenlin. We’d get in so much trouble. And the Demented would sooner murder us, than welcome us to one of their freak shows.”

“Not if we’re wearing disguises….”

“You’re serious?”

Baenlin nodded, smiling like a buffoon. “I’ve got this friend, a member of the court, and he got us both costumes so that we can fit right in.”

“You’ve a friend from the court of Dementia? What else don’t I know about you, cousin?”

He shrugged. “We did skooma together back in the day.”

“You’re nineteen,” said Thadon. “You can’t say ‘back in the day’. Anyway, you’ve done skooma?”

“Yeah, for a while. I wanted to try something different. It was all right, but it didn’t make me feel good, like greenmote does, so I stopped. But Markus and I have remained friends.”

“That’s lovely,” Thadon replied, sarcastically. “But I’m not interested in sneaking into a Demented party, likely toward my death.”

“Oh, come on,” Baenlin urged. “This could be fun. Think about it, Thadon—it’s never been done before. I mean, not that I’ve heard of…. And we can see if it’s true, what they say about the Duke’s parties.”

“I’m sure I’d rather not find out.”

“Oh, don’t be such a party-pooper, Thadon! Think about the thrill of breaking the rules; the excitement of seeing all those delicious Demented ladies trying to get into our trousers….”

“I think you’ve got the Demented a little confused, Baenlin. They’re not like our women, I’m sure.”

“How can you know if you never find out?”

Thadon shook his head and rolled his eyes. Baenlin stopped suddenly, noticing Thadon’s newest drawing. A smile spread across his lips, and he said, “Not interested in Demented women, eh, Thadon? Who is she? Mmm. Tasty little morsel—if you like brunettes. I’m partial to red-heads, but I can see her potential.”

“She’s…no one. Just someone I’ve seen…. I just wanted to draw something a little different, and I thought she was pretty enough. I don’t know who she is.”

“Well, who’s to say she won’t be there? You might run into her… Get to have a little fun… Know what I mean…?”

Baenlin winked at him, and Thadon rolled his eyes. He was trying not to act excited, but inside he had hope that maybe she would be there. Perhaps his dream would come true, after all?

Letting out a sigh, Thadon turned back to Baenlin. “Oh, all right. But if we get caught, this was your idea. I’m not taking the blame for another one of your ‘brilliant ideas’.”

“Not to worry, cousin,” Baenlin replied, slapping him on the back. “I’ve got this one covered. We got help from the inside, remember? Just be in my chamber at quarter to seven tonight, and we’ll get ready there. Don’t be late.”

When Baenlin left in a hurry, Thadon turned to gaze at his drawing of his Demented muse. He reached out to touch her cheek, hoping that perhaps tonight he would get to do so for real….



My father had planned a court ball that night to celebrate my return, and for it he showered me with gifts. He gave me a brand new gown made of the finest dark blue taffeta, and jewelry set with sapphires and diamonds to match. This was what I would be wearing to the ball, as he wanted me to shine before all who were present. He and Alanwen were both going to wear green, and I joked with Muurine that Alanwen was green with envy because I had returned to my father’s favor.

The night would begin with a feast, followed by a dance, and there would be the usual entertainment. I was looking forward to the celebration, but as the time approached for the feast to begin, I started to feel nervous about seeing all the courtiers again after my two-year absence from court. What made me feel even more nervous, though, was that some of those same courtiers were men I had given my services to while working as a prostitute. Would they say anything? Would they be indiscreet and talk about me, or even be indecent toward me? Would my father or someone else see it and figure it out?

My father came into my quarters, with Alanwen on his arm, when the time had come for us to go to the dining hall for the feast. They both seemed in a good mood, though I knew that my father had been smoking skooma, as I could smell it on him. I’d noticed he’d been smoking a lot more in the last week than he had been when I left two years ago, and it concerned me that his habit had seemed to worsen. I wondered if Alanwen used it, too, but she seemed not to like the smell of it any more than I did, though she apparently tolerated it better.

“Well, my daughter,” Ada said, “are you ready to go face the lions?”

He was joking, and I forced a smile, answering, “I fear I’m no match for them, but I’ll try.”

Chuckling at my reply, my father came to take me by the arms and pressed his lips to my forehead. Then he gazed at me lovingly. “You are so lovely, just like her…. Try to behave yourself tonight, if you can.”

I knew he what he was alluding to, but he wasn’t being in any way demanding—it was more like he was hoping I would become his good little girl again, and I wanted to try.

My father patted my cheek then, returning to Alanwen. When he took her arm and turned back to me, he said, “I have given Lord Jarol the honor of escorting you to the feast. It is only proper that a lady has an escort.”

My smile faded, and I wanted to protest; but then I saw Lucian step through the doorway. Talk about perfect timing….

I swallowed my disappointment and forced a smile as Lucian approached me, bowing like the gentleman I knew he wasn’t. He pressed my hand to his lips, and said, “My lady, this is indeed a great honor.”

“Lord Jarol,” I said, trying to hide my displeasure. “It is good to see you this evening.”

He smiled in a charming but smug manner, and I was sure that I knew what he was thinking. He dropped a subtle hint, by saying, “You look ravishing, Syl. You have matured beautifully.”

“Have I? I hardly noticed.”

Lucien chuckled and laced my arm through his. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” I replied. Then we followed my father and his consort to the dining hall, so the feast could commence. But now I no longer wanted to be there. It was going to be a long night….





To all of my readers: I hope you are not too furious with me leaving you hanging this way. Don’t worry, there’s a lot more, but I won't be posting anymore for now. I am so glad to have you here. For those who leave comments—I appreciate your kind words and have enjoyed interacting with you. For those who are reading and not leaving comments—I have no idea how many or how few of you there are, but I am so grateful to have you reading and I hope you have enjoyed every update.

Over the past couple months, I've been going back over part one and editing it, to fill it out more and make it even more entertaining and interesting. The first chapter was, by far, my weakest chapter. As SubRosa and Destri Melarg both pointed out, I was doing too much "telling" and not enough "showing." I went back over it then to try to fix it, but it has continued to remain my least favorite chapter, and I knew I could do better--I just wasn't sure how to correct the "second introduction" feeling of Chapter 1.

Finally, a couple weeks ago, I decided that the only way to fix Chapter 1 for the best would be to start over from the beginning and completely rewrite Chapter 1, keeping a few things from the original, but otherwise writing all new material. After doing that, the original Chapter 1 became way too long, though, so now it has been split into two chapters. If everyone here doesn't mind, I would like to start posting the re-written Chapter 1 and the new Chapter 2. Please let me know what you think.

And one last thing--again, I want to thank all of you for reading and offering advice and support. And a special thanks to both Destri and SubRosa, for their advice about Chapter 1--I always remembered what both of you said, and it helped to keep me working on that chapter.



Chapter 1.1--Born in the Realm of Madness

It had rained all morning, but that was no surprise. It rained most days in Dementia, and there was almost always constant cloud cover. The sunshine, then, was a rare gift which I treasured as a young child. Sneaking out of my chambers was too easy in the afternoons, when my governess lay down for a nap, expecting me to do the same. All I needed to do was lie in my bed and feign slumber until I was certain she was no longer conscious. Then I opened my eyes and, with a smile, crept out into the vast palace corridors, eagerly taking the opportunity to slip away in search of adventure.

I was in my sixth year, curious and full of mischief, as are most elves at such a tender age. There wasn’t much to do in the House of Dementia, and even at that age, my father insisted that most of my time be taken up with studying. So, naturally, I found great joy in escaping from my rather tedious and boring duties to use my natural ability to sneak through the shadowed corridors of the palace unseen.

My father’s private garden was only a short distance from my bedchamber, and none of the courtiers were allowed to walk there without my father’s permission, so I could have it almost entirely to myself. Only the royal guards were there at that time of day, while my father was holding court, and with my tiny frame it was easy to go unnoticed by the towering Mazken.

It was always a relief to get out of the lifeless and confining walls of the inner palace and smell the damp, musty air that was always left behind after the rain stopped. The grass and moss were so much softer beneath my feet than the cold, hard stone that was tempered only by a rug here and there. Why anyone would want to live indoors all the time, I couldn’t understand at that age. Being outside, among the trees and the birds and the wide open sky was so much better than being inside, with a roof over my head day and night.

The pale aquamarine glow of the withering moon plants always amazed me, and after hiding myself safely within the bushes and trees, I admired the way the light reflected off the rocks and leaves. But then I continued on, carefully climbing into the weeping willow tree that graced the garden with its sorrowful beauty. I enjoyed sneaking around in the garden, with my father’s guards completely unaware of my presence—I felt courageous and cunning when I was able to fool the hawk-eyed female warriors known as the Dark Seducers.

With a smile on my lips, I climbed across until I was near the door that led to my father’s private quarters, and then I waited for the patrolling guards to be out of sight before I jumped down and started for the door. But then I stopped dead in my tracks, when I heard, “Halt! You are trespassing in the Duke of Dementia’s private garden!”

Letting out a sigh of disappointment, I slowly turned around to face my captor, fearing reprimand. But when I looked upon her face, I felt immense relief. It was Jansa, the friendlier of the two Dark Seducers that patrolled in the garden. Jansa could easily have squashed me, a tiny little wood elf against a towering Mazken, but instead she smiled.

“You need to work on your sneaking, young mistress,” she said, looking down at me. “Perhaps next time you will be more successful at remaining undetected.”

“How did you see me this time, Jansa? I was wearing green.”

“The green of the trees is a different tone than the green of your dress,” she responded in a simple, matter-of-fact way. “But you did better this time than the last. There has been notable improvement.”

“Next time, I will make it all the way to the door before you catch me,” I said, as she began leading me toward the exit.

“I’m sure you will. But for now you must return to your quarters as the Duke commands, so I can return to my duties.”

“Aww,” I whined, as she opened the door that led back into the corridor from whence I came. But before she could usher me out, I heard the deep, stern voice of my father from behind us.

“Is that my Syl Aranel sneaking around in my garden?” he asked. When I whirled around to see his smiling face and dark but loving eyes, I was elated. He held his arms out to me and I ran to him, giggling as he lifted me up onto his shoulders to take me back into the grassy area. “What are you doing out of your quarters, young lady? Am I mistaken, or are you not supposed to be taking a nap with your governess?”

“I didn’t want to sleep, Ada! There’s too much to do and I wasn’t tired!”

I always called my father ‘Ada’, which is the endearing form of the elven word for father, ‘Adar’. Though most elves in the Realm of Madness were no longer in touch with their native elven tongue, in my family we spoke both Tamriellic and the Bosmeri dialect of the elven language. And so, my father often called me his ‘Syl Aranel’, which means ‘faerie princess’.

“My little Syl, not tired?” he asked, feigning shock. “And I imagine you were not interested in practicing your penmanship, either?”

“No, Ada,” I said with a laugh as he lifted me off his shoulders and set me back on the ground, tickling my waist in the process. Then I explained, “I wanted to play outside today! The sun is out!”

He paused to look up through the open roof, squinting his eyes, and said, “Ah, so it is.”

“Ada, why are you always so busy? I wish you and Mama could play with me all day long!”

With a sigh, my father knelt down before me to look me directly in the face and offered a weary smile. “I know it is hard being away from us so often, Syl, but I am the Duke of Dementia. It is my duty to look after the people’s needs. And your mother, as my consort, must be at my side while I am holding court.”

“Where is Mama? Why isn’t she here with you?”

“She is taking tea with Lady Jarol, my steward’s wife,” he replied. “But I am certain that as soon as she is finished, she will want to spend time with you.”

“Can we play outside?” I asked.

“Well, I would imagine that if you ask your mother, she will gladly play outside with you,” he said. But then we were interrupted when my father’s steward, a nobleman of Imperial ancestry, approached with a message for my father.

“My Lord,” said the steward with a bow, “forgive me for interrupting.”

“’Tis no matter, Lucian,” my father replied. “I trust you have good reason for coming to me now, when I have just begun taking my break from holding court?”

“Indeed, I have news that I believe will be most pleasing to Your Lordship, concerning the insurrection.”

“Is that so?” my father asked. Then he turned to me, and said, “Syl, I have some very important business to which I must attend. You may stay here and play for a little while under the supervision of my Seducers, but then you must return to your studies until you mother comes to see you.”

“Yes, Ada,” I replied, hanging my head in disappointment. Then I watched him and Lord Jarol walk away together, exiting through the side door, which is the same one through which I had entered. My father rarely left that way, which struck me as somewhat odd. But very quickly I forgot about it, and instead I began playing.

Jansa and the other guard continued their patrols, and while I avoided the other one, I decided it would be fun to follow closely behind Jansa as she made her rounds. She very quickly noticed me walking behind her and mimicking her movements, but she pretended not to notice me at first, allowing me to have my fun. I could tell she was watching me, though, out of the corner of her eye, and I thought it was all very amusing.

When she did finally stop, she looked down at me, and asked, “Are you trying to be Mazken, child?”

“What’s Mazken, Jansa?”

“It is my kind,” she replied. “Just as you are Bosmer, I am Mazken.”

“But I thought you were Dark Seducers?”

Jansa chuckled, and patiently said, “We are Mazken, but our rivals the Aureals gave us the name Dark Seducer. That is why many refer to us as such, but that is not what we call ourselves.”

“The Aureals?”

“The Aureals are the Golden Saints,” she replied. “They are the ones who serve Mania, just as we Mazken serve Dementia.”

“Oh,” I said thoughtfully. “So…it’s just like how I am a Bosmer in the elven language, but in Tamriellic I am called a wood elf?”

“That is correct,” Jansa replied with a nod. “You have a remarkably quick mind, for a mortal child. An admirable quality.”

She was about to continue her patrols, when I began following her again, and said, “I like you, Jansa. When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

“But you are not Mazken,” she replied. Then she stopped, seeming to rethink her response, and said, “You can try, if you’d like. But I must continue my rounds. Please stay out of trouble, young mistress.”

She began walking again, and I still continued to follow, this time examining her curiously. After we had rounded the corner, I suddenly asked, “Why is your skin purple?”

Jansa smiled slightly, and responded, “Why is your skin peach?”

I had never really thought about it before, and I looked down at the skin on my hands. After pondering the subject for awhile, I finally lost interest, finding it to be of little importance, and I decided to ask her a different question. “What is that?”

She stopped and looked down in the direction I was pointing, and then she said, “This is a mace. It is a weapon that I keep to protect myself and defend your father, the Duke.”

“What does it do?”

“It does what I make it do,” she replied simply. “If I want it to break a man’s bones, then that’s what I will make it do.”

I stopped and gasped, asking, “Why would you want to break someone’s bones?”

“To keep them from killing the Duke.”

“You mean Ada!?”

“Yes.”

“Why would someone want to kill Ada!?” I asked in horror.

“I wouldn’t know. I am not able to discern what is in their minds when they decide to turn against the Duke.”

“What is…discern?”

“You ask too many questions,” she said finally. I could tell she was slightly annoyed, though I think she was trying to be patient with me. “Shouldn’t you be returning to your chambers now? You ought to obey the Duke.”

“He said I could play for a little while.”

“And a little while has now passed,” she replied. “I think it is time for you to go back inside the palace and return to your studies, as your father commanded, young mistress.”

I sighed in disappointment, but I could tell she was losing her patience, so I decided to obey. Without saying a word, I turned around and headed back—the long way—to return to my quarters.

Once inside the palace, I began walking the short distance back to my chamber, when I suddenly became distracted again. It was my keen sense of hearing which alerted me to the agonizing cries rising up from the dungeon—a grim and forbidding place which, up until that day, I had never seen. Alarmed but ever-curious, I could not resist sneaking down to the lower part of the palace, ducking in the shadows when I heard one of the Dark Seducers on patrol nearby. When she had passed, I continued down the stairs with caution, and peered through the partially open door of my father’s torture chamber.

Seeing the man in chains, screaming and crying and begging for mercy as my father did unspeakable things to him, I gasped quietly and stood there to continue watching, riveted by the horrifying scene. Never had I seen so much blood… Never had I witnessed such a cruel fate as that man’s… And never had I known that my beloved Ada was capable of doing such terrible things.

It was only when I felt someone grab my tiny shoulder and pull at me that I finally managed to turn away from that scene. I let out a terrified scream, but was hushed quickly by Muurine, my Altmer governess.
“Shh…Hush, child,” she whispered. “You are not supposed to be here. Come—return to your chamber at once.”

Muurine towered over me, being high elf, and when I was a girl she had long dark hair that was almost black. She was beautiful and somewhat mysterious, but she treated me very warmly most of the time, and she was unbelievably patient with me though I was a difficult child to raise.

I was in tears when we returned to my chamber, asking, “Muurine, why was Ada hurting that poor man?”

“That ‘poor man’ is one of your father’s enemies, Syl. If your father wasn’t hurting him, he would have hurt your father. But that is the end of the discussion. You were supposed to be napping, not sneaking around in the corridors—do you have any idea how dangerous it can be for you to be wandering around without a chaperone, Syl? You must not disobey your father’s orders—he has legitimate reasons for making the rules as he does, and rules are meant to be followed. Now, to your studies….”

Though I continued to protest, Muurine brought me to the writing desk and made me sit down, where I had to spend the next half hour practicing my penmanship, and trying to forget the awful scene I had just witnessed.

My father was a subject of great confusion for me growing up. He was the most powerful mortal in the Isles, aside from his counterpart, the Duke of Mania, and most of the people in Dementia feared him. Though I had often seen my father’s dark side as a child, with me he was kind and loving, only hard when he needed to be, and never cruel. I adored my father—he was my hero; so, it may come as a surprise to some that I ever became Duchess of Dementia at all—for, the way to the throne was not my birthright, nor my heritage. It was a position given to those who had earned the Madgod’s favor, and anyone was eligible to take control of one of the ruling Houses. How I came to sit on the throne I’ll not go into now, but I will say this much—I did not inherit the throne from my father, as that never happens in Dementia. There is a lot more involved than that, and it is always very bloody.