Acadian--Thank you very much for your encouragement and advice--and also for pointing out the mixed plural/singular in the first sentence. I went back and fixed it right away.

And yes, Syl certainly knows what that's like, craning her neck to look up at all those towering Altmer and Nords and Imperials! I loved the picture; thank you for sharing it.

All--I am overjoyed at my warm reception, as well as the willingness of my readers to help me make my writing the best it can possibly be. I welcome all the advice, corrections, and questions that you may have, and I thank you for taking the time to come and learn Syl's story. I will thoroughly enjoy our time together here in Chorrol.

Chapter 1.2--The Unwanted Surprise

My father took a new mistress a few months before my tenth birthday, and my mother seemed more distressed than she had even been before, though I didn’t understand it at the time. She often cried herself to sleep at night, while I lay in bed, holding her and trying to help her feel peace. I was her only source of comfort and joy at this point, as my father’s hatred of her had become quite apparent. She confided in me often, though I was perhaps too young to hear so many of the things that she told me. She had no one else to talk to about her feelings, though, for all of her friends had abandoned her. Muurine was the only person she considered a friend anymore, but she knew better than to confide in her, as Muurine always had a love for gossip.

In those days, my mother had become much more depressed and paranoid. She trusted only me, and was certain that everyone else was out to get her, for whatever reason. I didn’t understand it, why she was always so fearful. To me the world was exciting and new, but to her it had become a living nightmare. Gone was the beautiful and loving mother I had always known. Now she was worn out, disheveled, and agitated. She rarely even left my quarters anymore, and every sudden noise made her jump from fright. She trembled when in my father’s presence, and she was always nervous and fidgety. She had hallucinations at times, and she would mumble constantly to herself about someone named Ceridwen, who she had apparently wronged, but it would be many years before I understood what that was all about.

Sometimes my mother would tell me that we were living in a terrible place, and that we needed to get out of the Realm, and return to her home in Valenwood, where she had grown up. This was a terrifying thought to me, as I had known only the Realm, and I longed to be nowhere else, even as a child. I thought my mother was speaking nonsense, but I always stayed by her side, holding her hand and pretending to understand what she was talking about.

“They are coming for me, Syl,” she said one day, looking very seriously into my eyes and tightly gripping my arms. “Do you understand me, girl? They are coming for all of us! We have to get out before it’s too late. We have to escape…. Promise me you won’t let them take you, Syl. Promise me!”

“I promise, Mama,” I tearfully replied, just wanting her to stop saying such horrible things. Though I thought she was only talking nonsense, a part of me was genuinely terrified that what she was saying might be true.

By this point, my father pretty much ignored my mother altogether. He spent most of his free time with Alanwen, who was much younger than mother, and also very clever. She had him wrapped around her little finger, and he hardly even noticed me when she started coming around. I became jealous of the attentions he paid to her, as I had never been ignored by my father before. But I believed she knew what she was doing, and I disliked her intensely. She would smile and wink at me in what I took to be a conniving and victorious manner, as my father went off to his quarters with her, instead of spending his breaks with me as before.

With my mother’s fearful ranting about Alanwen, I began to wonder if she wasn’t out to get us after all. If she could get rid of us, she would have my father all to herself; and she was insanely jealous whenever he did choose to spend time with me instead of with her. That’s when I would give her a little wink and a smile, the same way she always did to me. If looks could kill, I’d have dropped dead right then and there, for Alanwen hated me intensely in those moments.

Alanwen and I actually started competing for my father’s attentions, and I began very quickly to win more often than she did. That just went to show that no woman could ever come between me and Ada. I was the number one girl in his life, and nothing could ever change that. Sure, as I got older, we had our ups and downs; but overall, my father never abandoned me, and he was my hero. I trusted him completely then, even though I didn’t always agree with him, and I knew that he would never do anything deliberate to hurt me.

What did hurt me to see, though, was the way he treated my mother. When she was having one of what I termed her ‘episodes,’ sometimes she would go to my father and plead with him to “get rid of that witch,” meaning Alanwen. She also begged him to give her a Dark Seducer to guard her, as she was certain that her life was in danger. My father was very unsympathetic to her, and he would only push her away and tell her to go back to “hiding in Syl’s quarters.” He would only beat her if she continued to pester him, which she very often did when she was in that state.

It pained me to see such displays between my beloved parents, and I was torn between them both. I would sometimes pull at my mother’s hand, begging her to leave my father alone and come back to my chamber with me. When she didn’t listen, my father would send me away while he punished her for her “stubborn disobedience.” I would obey, but I always watched from the corridor, unable to pull myself away, my heart breaking with every blow he gave to her. Then, when my father was finished, he always went to his quarters to recover with Alanwen, and I would run back out to my mother, who was crumpled on the floor, beaten and too weak to get up on her own.

I helped her to my quarters, where she would lie on the bed and curl up into a ball to sob like a child. I could not heal her with magicka, as at this time my magical abilities were limited to only healing myself, and very little at that point. But seeing my mother injured and uncaring enough to heal herself made me eager to develop the ability to heal others, and it was in this way that I was quite skilled. I never worked so hard to develop my own healing abilities, and few people know this, but I am better at healing others than I am at healing myself. She was my inspiration in this way, and it has been very useful to me at times. If only I had been able to save her.



For my tenth birthday, my father decided at the last minute that he wanted to take me out for the day, just the two of us (and the Dark Seducer bodyguards that accompanied him everywhere). We went out riding in the countryside together on the most beautiful black mares in all the Shivering Isles. Horses were a rarity in the Isles, and only the wealthy could afford to keep them. But we did have some around back then, until our Lord decided that he no longer cared to have horses in His Realm, for reasons that were never made entirely clear. We rode freely through Dementia, though we never strayed from the roads, while the four female Dark Seducers ran behind us at a steady pace to keep up.

Let me take this moment to explain something, to any who may not actually be from the Isles. Most of the Dark Seducers and Golden Saints are actually female. Males in their culture are much rarer, and also less desired, than the females. When I speak of the Mazken and the Aureals, most likely they are females, unless I say otherwise. Males are regarded as being less dependent and mostly useless in their culture, and the females hold all the highest ranks and the best positions. Why this is, I do not know, but I have never seen finer warriors than the females I have fought with in battle…

My father and I rode to Ashwood, a beautiful and exotic city in the south of Dementia that has long since been destroyed, and we were greeted there with much Dementia-styled fanfare. Everyone recognized right away that the Duke was in their midst, and their attitude toward him seemed to be one of great reverence. I never saw any other attitude toward my father, except when there were assassination attempts on him, but I never understood that because I had never seen anything but admiration from his people. I assumed, as a child, that my father was well-liked by the people of Dementia, but I would come to learn that their praises of him were merely pretense. In truth, my father was greatly despised by his people, because most of them were starving and unhappy under his rule. He did little toward the good of Dementia, and spent most of his time amusing himself with women and indulging his skooma habit. If you’ve seen Crucible in its current state, you’d be surprised to hear that it was much worse when my father reigned as the Duke of Dementia.

When we climbed off our horses in Ashwood, he took me by the hand and led me to the Great Tower of Ashwood. The Great Tower was the tallest building in Dementia, not including New Sheoth Palace. Inside the tower was a large chamber, with stairs that wound around up to the top, and it was open to the roof almost like a lighthouse. There were lookout platforms at the top, and from there one could look out across the whole of the land and far into the endless sea. It was a sight to behold, especially to a child, and I was left in awe.

After that, we went to the dressmaker’s shop where my father surprised me when he ordered a new dress to be made for me that very day. I picked out a deep crimson taffeta, and I wanted it lined with black lace, and I felt like a princess being able to have a new dress just like that. I wasn’t aware that the reason the dressmaker was able to make a new dress so quickly was that she and her seamstresses had to put all other orders on hold to finish mine by the time that was specified by my father, or they would have been imprisoned in the dungeon in the House of Dementia and whipped for their incompetence.

While we waited for the dress to be made, he took me to the public garden in the centre of Ashwood. It was beautiful there, with lush greens and perfect flowers. An exotic wooden bridge crossed the lily-pad covered pond to a gazebo on a small island in the centre. I loved every minute of it. Father watched me with a smile on his face as I talked and laughed and played. I knew that he loved me, and that I would never lose him. I was the sparkle in his eye, and I never felt more beautiful and more worthy than when he looked at me that day.

At the end of the day, with my new dress neatly wrapped in paper and tied with string, we headed back to New Sheoth. It had been one of the best days of my life, and I thought that nothing could shatter that perfect day for me. I rode with a smile, talking about how much I loved my new dress, and I couldn’t wait to wear it at the party that evening. Mama was going to be so proud when she saw me in my beautiful new dress, and she had promised me that morning that she was going to have a wonderful surprise for me at the party that night.

When we got back to the palace, I took my dress from the Dark Seducer who had carried it, and I ran to my bedchamber, eager to unwrap it so that Mama could see. Father called after me, telling me to wait, and not to go to my bedchamber just yet, but I simply couldn’t wait to show Mama, so I disobeyed and pretended not to hear him calling. He would forgive me just this once, I decided, because it was my birthday. I giggled as I ran down the corridor, thinking how much fun it was to be a little disobedient, and knowing that this time I could get away with it.

When I threw open the door to my chamber, I saw my mother standing there in the middle of the room, and I started telling her about my dress. But she didn’t respond, and she looked at me with an empty gaze, and then she slowly disappeared. That’s when I realized that what I had seen was not what I had thought. All my life, I had always seen things that others couldn’t, and this was the very same thing. My smile faded and I dropped the paper-wrapped dress, feeling my stomach wrench as I noticed the body on the bed. It was Mama, and she was sprawled across the bed in an unnatural position; her eyes were partially open, and her arm hung off the side. On the floor nearby was a silver goblet, with a small amount of wine still lingering inside where it could not leak out with the rest, which had likely soaked into the deep purple rug that rested beneath it.

My father had been chasing after me, but he stopped when he saw me there, staring into the room at my mother’s pale and lifeless body. I was frozen in terror. I didn’t need to venture into the room any further to see that my mother was dead. Then all at once, I let out the most fearful and miserable scream and ran down the corridor to my father. I fell into his arms, screaming and sobbing while he held me tightly and asked me what I’d seen. I was certain he hadn’t known what I was going to find, but Alanwen stood behind him, staring at me with a look on her face I could not decipher. But I was certain she had something to do with it, and I began screaming and pointing in her direction, telling my father that she had killed my mother. But father wouldn’t believe what I was saying, and he took me away very quickly while the Seducers and servants went in to clean up the body. Alanwen just stood there, emotionless, staring at me the whole time; I was sure that I was next.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Sep 2 2011, 03:59 AM

Simply fantastic! I love this look into Syl's childhood, and the very dysfunctional nature of her family. It is just what I would expect not only from the Shivering Isles, but especially from the ruling house of Dementia. Even here we can see the seeds of paranoia being planted in Syl's mind. Plus her mother's very oblique reference to the Greymarch was excellent!

until our Lord decided that he no longer cared to have horses in His Realm, for reasons that were never made entirely clear.
I love this explanation for the lack of horses!

The first part is outdone by the second half, showing us Syl's birthday with her father. I have to say that before they even returned, I got the impression that her mother had been murdered, and that was the reason that her Father took her to Ashwood. Syl seeing her mother's ghost was excellent, and drawing the conclusion that Alanwen was responsible. Now I cannot wait to see what is next!

WARNING: WALL OF TEXT INCOMING!!

SubRosa touched on it before, but it bears repeating. The mistake that you are making with this first chapter is that you are treating it just like the prologue. We already heard Syl speaking from an 'Undisclosed Location in the Shivering Isles.' I know you want to go through Syl’s childhood quickly to get to the meat of the story, but simply telling us about events and how she feels about them does the character (and the reader) a disservice.

Chapter 1.1:

First off, specificity, you need to focus your story. You have a tendency to jump around quite a bit in relaying the events of Syl’s childhood. The paragraph that begins with . . .

That is your opening! Nothing written before that can hold a candle to this sentence of a dozen words! It draws us in and establishes everything we need to know about Syl and the strangeness of the Isles without having to explain anything to us. I loved every part of her ‘necromancy lesson’, but then you abandoned it so that Syl could spend the next nine paragraphs telling us about her mother’s abuse, her father’s infidelity, her own dress and play habits, and the violent politics of Dementia. All of these things would be better served by allowing us to see them occur over the course of a day, or even a single afternoon.

Check it:



Chapter 1.2

Again, you need to focus the events of the chapter into a specific moment in time so that we as readers can see what is occurring without Syl having to tell us. Alanwen should walk around the palace like she owns the place, having firmly established herself as Lady Adrial’s replacement. Syl’s hatred of the woman should be felt in the palpable tension that exists in the palace halls. Not only does Lady Adrial confine herself to quarters, she confines herself to Syl’s quarters! Syl and Muurine are the only people to whom she will speak, and her speech has become increasingly erratic (even for Dementia). The dialogue that you have here, when she says: “They are coming for me Syl,” is great! But instead of ‘she would sometimes say’, just have her say it. As readers we need immediacy. Things that ‘would’ happen never have the same impact as things that ‘are’ happening.

Competition between Syl and Alanwen for the affections of Lord Gelebor should take concrete form. How do they compete exactly? We need a scene with them doing so (perhaps you could even open this section of the chapter with it, because such an opening would establish their enmity towards each other and create the tension within the palace).

The events of the second part of this chapter are very specific and absolutely terrific! My only advice here is to take the indelible scene in the public garden and use that same level of detail for their ride through Crucible and into Ashwood. Syl telling us that her father was despised doesn’t carry the same impact as her seeing the looks given to them by the citizenry. I would also suggest that you actually give us the dialogue when Syl comes into her chamber to tell her mother about the new dress.

I think you have the makings of a fantastic novel here! The problem, as I see it, is that Syl is too far removed from her own story. Let her nine/ten year old self carry the action. Get her in there, and get her dirty!

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Apr 7 2011, 09:19 PM

GAAAAH !!! Cliffhanging ending, riveting story so far !! Your attention to detail makes for a very powerful read, as does your great storyline !!

SubRosa: Thank you for your compliments. I am glad you found it to be more captivating. It's a slow start, I think, but it gets better as Syl gets past the early childhood and moves into the aftermath of her mother's death, and her adolescence.... Hopefully I will continue to make my story work for all of you.

Destri: Thank you very much for your imput. I do see what you are saying, and I will go back over it and take a look to see how I can incorporate your suggestions into the story better. I've already gone back to that part with Syl's mother warning her about wanting to leave the Isles, and I made it present-tense, rather than "she would say..." I like your suggestions, and I will try to work on them to make it better so that Syl can be more part of her story. But also, don't forget that some removal from her tale would be expected, as it is Syl writing her memoirs, long after most of these events occurred. So, there would be some part of her, probably mostly due to her madness, that would be detached from her past. I will try to do better, though, so you will hopefully continue to read and enjoy Syl's story.

mALX: Thanks! Yes, I'm a pretty detail-oriented person. And yes, a cliffhanger. I love cliff-hangers, and whenever I am able to end on one, I am pretty thrilled because I like to leave my readers on the edge of their seats and anxious for more! Unfortunately for all of you, many of the secrets that are hinted at early on will not be revealed in full for quite some time. They'll eventually fall into the back of your mind, and then when the time comes and you discover the hidden truth, you'll remember those hints (hopefully) and be like, OMG!!! At least, that is my intention...

There are two distinct parts to this episode (1.2).

The first part is competent and spells out much of Syl's family history. The word memoire does indeed come to mind. Somewhat historical, covers lots of ground.

The second part is exciting because we feel as if we are right there with our ten year old farie princess sharing her beautiful day that is laced with dark innuendo, then ends in a tragedy that pulls at our heartstrings.

A special salute regarding Alanwen. You project volumes about her based simply on those 'looks' she exchanges with Syl. Fabulously effective and her mysteriousness contributes strongly to the unique feel for the SI you are giving us.

Throughout, you infuse a deliciously foreboding and ominous feeling that seems so very appropriate for a girl from Dementia. I am so enjoying this wonderful story and am so glad you are bringing it to us!

Nit: Let me take this moment to explain something, to any who many not actually be from the Isles.
I'm sure you want 'may' instead of 'many'.

Acadian: Thank you so much. I don't want to get too repetitive, but I appreciate all of your help and encouragement. It is so refreshing to find so many like-minded people here.




Also, thank you for pointing this out to me. I had not noticed it, but I will fix it right away.

Chapter 2.1--Unsolved Mysteries

The death of my mother hit me very hard, especially because it had occurred on my birthday and I had been the one to find her. The reason for her death was not explained to me, but the others apparently knew and they were all very quiet about it when I was around.

The day after her death, I was walking to my chamber when I overheard some servants gossiping about it. “Such a shame,” one of them was saying. “I would never have expected such a thing. And that poor little girl, left without a mother…. It’s tragic.”

The other servant huffed, and replied, “She wasn’t much of a mother or a wife, always hiding in her daughter’s chamber, as if she was safe nowhere else. And then, to do this--I’d say the Duke and his daughter are better off!”

Seeing me standing in the corridor as they walked by, the other servant shushed her, and they changed the subject quickly, after giving me a nod and acting like they had nothing to hide. It was always like that when I was around, and I wondered why everyone was being so secretive about my mother’s death. I was the one to find her, after all. What did they have to shelter me from?

They didn’t want me to know what happened, but I had my suspicions. My father assured me that Alanwen had nothing to do with my mother’s death, but I simply refused to believe it. Nothing would convince him otherwise, though I challenged him to tell me what they were hiding, if not Alanwen’s guilt.

Instead of answering my questions, he sent me away and refused to talk about it, saying, “Syl, if you knew the reason for your mother’s death, it would only hurt you even more. It is best, for now, if you do not know the details—it will do you no good to know more.”

I couldn’t understand why he wanted to protect a murderess, especially one who would likely try to murder me next, and it bothered me intensely. It was then that our relationship started to become strained, and it would be years before things truly improved.

Had the thought occurred to me that my father had conspired with Alanwen to kill my mother? Certainly. But I knew my father better than that. If he had wanted my mother dead, he would never have killed her on my birthday. He loved me too much to do something like that….



My mother was buried in New Sheoth Graveyard a couple days following her death, on a cold, wet, and windy Sundas afternoon. The wind blew raindrops from the trees when it had ceased raining, and the roads were thick with mud. It was a gloomy day for a burial, indeed, and I wondered if my inner turmoil had somehow affected it to be that way.

As the High Priest spoke a long sermon about the meaning and purpose of death, and the sorrows of life, my mind wandered. I felt numb inside, and I just stared at the black wooden coffin that was my mother’s final resting place, wondering to myself what it would be like to die.

Movement in a nearby tree caught my eye, and I noticed a raven perched on a branch and watching me closely. I imagined that the bird could sense my loss, and that it had come to the cemetery to lessen my pain. I even imagined hearing the bird’s voice in my head, saying, “Fear not, little child. Death is only the beginning.”

I shuddered and turned my attention back to the High Priest, catching only the end of his sermon, “And now, in our grief, we must bid farewell to this beloved wife and mother, Lady Adrial. May her soul go and not attach itself to this world, but move on to the everlasting void. In Sheogorath’s name, so be it.”

Death was a terrifying prospect to me, if all I had to look forward to was an eternity of darkness and misery, or the empty life of a soul bound to the world and unable to move on. Imagining my beloved mother in such a state brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I buried my face in Muurine’s skirts, while she pulled me close and sighed painfully.

I had noticed little emotion from my father that day, and Alanwen seemed more bored than anything. This only confirmed her guilt, as far as I was concerned, but I excused my father’s lack of emotion by convincing myself he was simply in shock.

The stone that marked my mother’s grave was plain and simple—not the usual for a Duke’s wife—with only her name and the date of her death carved into it. I left a single flower upon her grave, after she was buried; it was a white lily, which was her favorite. Then my father lifted me onto his horse while Alanwen followed riding mine, and we returned to the palace.

Muurine stayed with me constantly after that, doing whatever she could to comfort me. She sat in my chamber with me, holding me tight as I cried myself to sleep every night. It seemed like she was the only person in the whole Realm that could understand my pain, and while I felt like my life had stopped, everyone else moved on as if nothing were changed.

“How can they smile and laugh?” I asked Muurine one day, as I followed her into the city one afternoon. “How can they act as if everything is the same, when nothing can ever be the same anymore?”

“They do not understand what you are going through, child,” she responded, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “They do not know what it is to lose a mother so dear to them. But come along, we mustn’t dawdle.”

Muurine was a shameless gossip, and she spent many an afternoon conversing with friends in Crucible. After my mother’s death, she had no choice but to drag me along to her friend’s homes for tea and the daily gossip. Father allowed it, but we had to be followed by a pair of Seducer bodyguards whenever I left the palace. As I looked back over my shoulder at their towering figures, I wondered if they understood my pain. But their expressions were the same as always, and neither of them offered even a hint of sympathy when I glanced at them.

While Muurine and her friends gossiped over tea, I sat in a corner working on my penmanship and needlepoint—dull and boring work, but Muurine detested idleness, saying it was a sign of laziness and low-breeding. She always said, “Why waste time sitting around and doing nothing, when you could be doing something useful?” I failed to see how needlepoint and gossip were useful tasks, but who was I to argue?

Since the weather was pleasant, Muurine took me out to play on the palace grounds, but it was rather boring having no one my own age to play with. While Muurine talked with one of my father’s courtiers, I sat in the grass and daydreamed, gazing up at the sky with its glittery clouds, admiring the way they sparkled with magenta light among the white puffy mist that composed them. The clouds in the Shivering Isles are unlike any others, so I’ve been told….

My attentions were drawn away from the clouds when I noticed a frog jumping from one stone to another, in search of flies to make into his supper. Giggling, I climbed up and chased after it, hoping to catch it. But the frog managed to evade capture, disappearing into some thick brush and scaring a grasshopper out of hiding. As the grasshopper sprang toward me, I screamed with a rush of excitement and ran to Muurine, hiding myself in her skirts.

Before long, however, I was off again, exploring my small and sheltered world, gasping in amazement as I watched a butterfly come my way. When she perched on my finger to show off her colorful wings, I was left speechless, and I held my breath, not wishing to frighten her away. After the butterfly flitted away to find a flower, I turned to Muurine, and cried, “Muurine! Muurine! Did you see it? Did you see the butterfly?”

“Yes, dear, I saw it,” she said, forcing a smile before returning to her conversation. She could hardly care less.

Sighing and turning away, I caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman standing off by some trees on the Mania side; she watched me with a strange look on her face, which I could not explain. I had seen her there often, all of my life, but she never attempted to speak to me, and whenever I spotted her, she would move away and appear to have vanished. I could never see her face very clearly, but she reminded me a lot of my mother. I assumed I was only thinking that because of how badly I missed my mother, though, and I pushed it from my mind and continued playing for what little time I had, wondering if she was some sort of ethereal being who was sent to watch over me. I never imagined she could be anything else.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 13 2011, 07:16 PM

Holy Cow, there are like three mysteries going on at once here !! GAAAAH !!! I think Muurine is protecting her from whoever killed her mother, and the Dad (or someone) spread it around that she took her own life (but Syl would know that is a lie). Then the raven would be her mother's spirit (and possibly the butterfly too) ... the beautiful woman must be a relative of the mother ... GAAAAH !!! I am probably wrong about everything - but I am LOVING this so far !!!!

he would never have killed her on my birthday. He loved me too much to do something like that…
I just love the wry and twisted outlook in Syl's thought that her father would not murder her mother on her birthday. Any other day to be sure. But not her birthday!

There is one way to know for sure if her mother was murdered or took her own life: if she turns up on the Hill of Suicides.

The raven was a welcome sight. Well, for me at least. I do realize that most other people see them as dark, foreboding figures.

And who is this strange Manic who Syl glimpsed at the Palace? Interesting.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 9 2011, 12:13 AM

Chapter 1.1:

You paint a very Demented picture of life in Dementia here. THis is the realm of madness, and therefore the normal rules do not apply here. I am quite glad you have grasped that idea so well.

Syl's first practical lesson in necromancy was very sardonic. You have a very good black humor about you that fits the realm perfectly.

I wonder if Syl will grow up to be jsut as masochistic as the rest of Dementia? We already know she is different, and would probably have done better being born in Tamriel, but then that would have been even more boring now, wouldn't it?

Chapter 1.2:

Quite gut-wrenching for Syl to have to learn of her mother's murder on her birthday. It is doubtless to me that her father was the culprit, and I really don't think I want to know what will be going through her head when she discovers her father was responsible. Perhaps this facilitated her descent into madness?

It would seem that it was getting consistently harder and harder for Syl to love her father over the course of this chapter. Still, I'm quite sure that it will not be with glee when she witnesses his inevitable death.

And I also see she fell into the deep trap of attempting to understand the Madgod's decisions! Best not attempt that again, Syl, otherwise your brain will explode.

If it helps, though, horses are to the Madgod what ducks are to the chocolatiers. Having no way to blend their long tails into his world as they reminded him too much of his beard, he presumed the presumption that word assumed that he assumed that they assumed that horses would remind the general populace too much of the Madgod's beard, which is, all things considered, a work of art. Ergo, without the assumptions presuming the presumptions that came after future of the visions of the Madgod, he decided that horses simply were not needed to support the realm's many curtain-hangers (numbering exactly zero), and therefore banished them.

I may have fudged a few details, though.

While the 'memoire' format is still giving this the 'passage of times past' feel that I believe you want, you are really incorporating plenty of dynamic memories and dialogue that 'show' Syl's youth and make reading about it a joy.

'I failed to see how needlepoint and gossip were useful tasks, but who was I to argue?'

'…wondering if she was some sort of ethereal being who was sent to watch over me.'
Syl is indeed a fairie princess, for she has three ethereal beings watching over her in this episode alone. First there is the appearance of a raven - well-known spirit of a fellow Bosmeri lass with a mane of scarlet and faint smile. Then Syl is visited by a butterfly - spirit of another wood nymph with golden locks. And finally the arrival of yet another spirit - this one a mystery, and in the form of a beautiful woman.

I continue to thoroughly enjoy this, and applaud your impressive talent!

mALX: Hehe, leaving you guessing and in suspense...that is precisely what I am up to... but the answers will not become clear for quite some time.... Glad you are enjoying it.

SubRosa: Yes, you can see the rather unusual mentality of the Demented at work here, and also Syl's ability to see her father's capability for murder, yet at the same time, her love and trust in him distorts her ability to see it fully. But, is it what it seems, or is there more to it than meets the eye...?

Thomas: Thank you. Yes, I have always had a fondness for psychology, and a sort of ease with being able to empathize with the villains, and to see their side of the story. I have always been drawn to the darker side of life, though not to the point of completely succumbing to it; and I can sort of understand what it is to be on the brink of insanity, struggling to hold onto self-control. I grew up with a mother who has bi-polar, and a father in denial about his depression, so I guess I've witnessed some of the varying degrees of madness first hand....

Acadian: Thank you. It is my hope to present a picture of Syl that shows her depth--both the good and the bad that exists within all of us. I want to promote understanding and sympathy for the one perceived as the villain, and give her the chance to show us what the madness of the Shivering Isles did to her truly innocent and good soul. The best of men can be corrupted, and good people can do some terrible things if pushed too far to stop themselves...
And of course, I must have some humor spread throughout, to keep it from getting too dark and miserable.


Chapter 2.2--The Errand Boy

On Sundas mornings, when the Madgod favored Dementia, we went to the Sacellum Arden-Sul to hear the High Priest sermonize the teachings of the Demented. I tried to listen carefully, but I could never get myself to enjoy sermons, and very often my mind wandered. I couldn’t help but wonder what the High Priest of Mania was thinking as he sat in his own pulpit, praying quietly to himself while trying to ignore the words that the High Priest of Dementia spoke. I often wondered, though never aloud, what was it that made the Manics so terrible? Why did they disagree so strongly with our teachings?

The one time I did ask this question aloud, Muurine answered sharply, “The Manics are blinded by their inability to see beyond the tips of their noses. They do not really care about what is true and what is not, because they would rather eat and drink and act like fools. The only thing they care about is themselves, and nothing more. Just stay away from the Manics, Syl. They are no good, and they cannot be trusted.”

That was easy enough to obey, though I didn’t feel any more assured of the evils of Mania than I had before I’d asked my question of her. I’d never even met a Manic, up to that point in my life, having only seen them from afar. They didn’t look all that frightening to me—if anything, they were just a bit odd, with their bright colored clothing and over-the-top mannerisms. I only stayed away from them because I was told to do so, and because I was chaperoned whenever I left the palace.

Soon after my mother’s death, I began sneaking out of the palace, because I hated always being followed by Muurine and my father’s Seducers. It felt refreshing to wander the grounds, believing that I had finally found the freedom I was so badly beginning to crave. The Seducers that patrolled the grounds, of course, knew who I was and reported to my father what I was up to. He let me continue to think I was escaping, though, because the Seducers would still be able to keep an eye on me, as long as I never left the palace grounds. Of course, being only a child, I never imagined venturing any further. But that would soon change, when one particular escape brought a meeting that would forever change my life, in ways I could never have imagined.

It was grey and wet that morning, but the afternoon sun began to peek through the clouds when I snuck out that day. I wandered down to my favorite thinking place, by one of the giant roots that grew up from the ground, twisting up toward the ramparts and holding tightly to one of the columns. When I sat down, I rested my head in my arms upon a dampened rock, quietly thinking and trying not to cry. It had been months now since my mother’s death, but I still thought of her all the time, unable to chase the painful memories from my mind. I missed her so terribly, and a part of me felt empty; something vital was missing and could never be replaced.

I let out a sigh and closed my eyes as a tear slipped gently down my cheek. That’s when I heard a small voice nearby, asking, “What’s the matter with you?”

My eyes shot open, and I was surprised when I turned my head to see a small boy standing only a few feet away. He had soft brown hair and green eyes the shade of a perfectly polished emerald. He was mer, like me, and given his petit size, I assumed he was also Bosmer. Other than size, he appeared to be around my age. But he was not Demented. This I knew right away, as his clothing was most certainly Manic in style, simple as they were; he was likely a servant of the House of Mania.

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” I said defensively, turning away again and trying to ignore him, as was expected of me. But then he came closer.

“If nothing’s the matter, then why are you crying?” he persisted. “Did somebody hurt you?”

“I’m not crying,” I protested; but then I had to wipe some tears from my cheeks and use my sleeve to dry my eyes. When I looked back up at him, he was still watching me curiously, and I finally grew tired of his gawking. “Why are you talking to me? Don’t you know that I’m Demented?”

“Yeah, so…?”

“So…it means we can’t talk to each other,” I replied. Then I added, with an air, “Besides, I’m a faerie princess. You’re just a pauper.”

The boy laughed. “You’re not a faerie, or a princess! Faeries have wings, and there’s no such thing as a princess in the Shivering Isles.”

“There is too!” I cried, upset that he would laugh at me. “My father says so, and he is always right.”

“I’ve never known anyone who was always right. Only Sheogorath….”

“My father is the Duke of Dementia,” I said haughtily, rising to my feet. I was pleased to find that I was, in fact, taller than he by just a tiny bit. “You’re just a little peasant—what do you know?”

“I’m not a peasant!” he cried, his cheeks reddening a bit. “Peasants are those birds they sometimes have on the supper table, and I’m not a bird—I’m an errand boy.”

Now I laughed. “You’re stupid. Peasants are poor people; pheasants are the birds of which you speak.”

He simply shrugged, unbothered by my insults. “Well, at any rate, I’m still not a peasant. I’m not poor.”

“You look poor,” I replied. “Your clothes are dull, your hair is dirty, and you smell like a barn.”

“I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. He then added, “You probably don’t even know what a barn smells like, so you’re not a very good critic.”

“What are you, an imbecile or something? Why are you even talking to me? Don’t you have work to do, errand boy?”

“Not now,” he answered, still not letting my attempts at insulting him work to bring him down. “The Duke said I could go out and play.”

“The Duke? You mean the Duke of Mania?”

“Mmhm. He’s my master, and my cousin’s uncle.”

“Wouldn’t that make him your uncle, as well?”

“Why would it? He’s not related to me; only to my cousin.”

I’ll admit I was a bit confused. But I didn’t want to look bad in front of a commoner, so I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Whatever. Why would I care who is and isn’t related to you?”

“You wouldn’t, I suppose,” he replied. Then he suddenly thrust his hand toward me, and said, “I’m Thadon, by the way. What is your name?”

I looked at his outstretched hand with hesitation. I knew I shouldn’t be speaking to him; my father’s hatred of the Manics was far from secret. But Thadon didn’t seem like someone not to trust, so I asked myself, what would be the harm in shaking his hand?

“I’m Syl,” I said finally, taking his hand and offering a meager smile. He became elated, and a smile spread across his face that was so filled with warmth and honesty, that I couldn’t help being drawn in by it from the start. My smile then grew, and it was the first time I had really smiled since the day my mother died.

“Syl is a pretty name,” he said thoughtfully. “What is its meaning?”

“It means faerie,” I replied, to which he smiled.

“So, you really are a faerie, after all!”

“I told you I was, didn’t I?”

His smile became more serious then, and he looked downward for a moment, almost shyly. When he looked up again, his eyes met mine, and he said, “You’re pretty, too. I like your eyes. They are like the sky, only prettier.”

I blushed. I had never really received compliments about my appearance before, so I wasn’t sure what to think about it. But I said, in a timid manner, “Thanks. I like your eyes, too.”

“Thank you!” he exclaimed, seeming overjoyed by my compliment. His emerald green eyes continued to examine my face, while I continued looking down shyly.

He laughed suddenly, causing me to look up and ask, “What?”

“Oh, nothing…. I’m just happy, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I’ve made a new friend!”

“I never said I was your friend.”

“Aren’t you?” he asked. “I thought you were…. But perhaps I was wrong.”

“Thadon, we can’t be friends. It’s against the rules.”

“What rules?”

“Well…my father’s, for one; he would never allow me to befriend a Manic.”

He glanced around almost impishly, and then said, “It’s not a crime if no one knows about it.”

“That’s foolish,” I stated bluntly. “We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“I know,” he replied with a shrug. “But I like you. You’re nothing like what they’ve said.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re Demented,” he answered. “But you’re also very nice. And you haven’t bitten me yet, so I’d assume you’re not going to.”

“Who says we bite people?”

He shrugged. “My cousin and all my other friends….”

“That’s absurd. We’re not vampires. We don’t bite anybody…. But I fail to see why you would call me ‘nice’; I’ve been anything but kind to you.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “You shook my hand, and you gave me a compliment. That’s called being nice.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “Whatever.”

“Say,” he said suddenly, “would you like to run errands with me in the afternoons? Some of the people give me candy as a tip, and there’s even some people who give me gold!”

“Why would I want to do that? I’m not a servant. I’m a lady of esteem.”

Again, he shrugged. “I thought you might like to share some of it with me, that’s all.”

I looked at him curiously. Sharing wasn’t selfish; but everyone said that the Manics only ever thought of themselves. What did he want out of me? Was he really only seeking friendship? It seemed hard to believe. Before I came up with an answer, though, I heard Muurine calling my name, and I gasped aloud. “I have to go!” I cried, turning to leave.

“But wait!” Thadon called. “Will you come with me tomorrow? I go out at 2 every afternoon….”

“I’ll try!” I shouted, running up the steps as fast as I could in my heavy brocade skirts, afraid of what might happen if Muurine saw me talking to a Manic child.

I met her as she was walking away from the doorway to the House of Dementia, and she asked, suspiciously, looking toward the staircase, “Who were you talking to?”

“No one,” I said, without a hint of dishonesty in my voice. “Just one of the Mazken….”

She was unsure of my answer, but she seemed to decide I was telling the truth, and she turned to lead me back inside, saying, “Well, hurry up! You’re late for your dancing lesson. The Duke will not be pleased.”

As I followed, I looked over my shoulder to see Thadon coming up the steps. He watched me disappear inside, and then returned to the House of Mania, presumably back to his duties.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 13 2011, 07:16 PM

What a delightful episode! Not to mention one that will doubtlessly change Syl's life forever. So here we meet young Thadon, catching her eye with his forbidden Manic style. Under it all is of course the division between the two cultures, which doubtlessly only adds to the attraction, as all forbidden fruits do.

Don’t you know that I’m Demented?
This is wonderful when taken out of context!

And you haven’t bitten me yet, so I’d assume you’re not going to.
I love this!



nits:
but the afternoon sun began to peak through the clouds
You are looking for peek, which is to look. Peak is the highest point on something, such as the top of a mountain.

You’re late for you dancing lesson.
Looks like Thadon absconded with the "r" in your!

Thanks for pointing out these mistakes! I changed them right away. It's amazing how other people's eyes can catch mistakes that I've missed, though I've gone over it several times myself to edit. Just goes to show how very helpful it is to have others proof-read!

Ooh, nice foreshadowing !!!



ROFL !!! And the fact that it is said with a straight face makes it doubly hilarious !! Do I detect a little transferance of pain from the loss of her mother in Syl's actions toward Thadon? Probably, because she is definately not mean spirited or thoughtless. Lucky thing her target was immune to her attempts, lol.

I love how you developed both characters so effortlessly in that scene !!





This exchange had me in stitches !!! I really enjoy how creatively you are sculptering the differences between Dementia and Mania !!! I think I've actually learned something about Shivering Isles reading this that I never picked up in game !!

I am loving this story in a way I was not able to love SI in the game !! Awesome Write !!!

This was a delight! You really got into a dynamic scene quickly in this episode and it as a fabulous scene at that! I smiled all the way through this encounter between the little Demented and the even smaller Manic. You did a great job of imparting loads of personality to Thadon and Syl here. Wonderful dialogue!

I loved the overtones of forbidden fruit and class constraints.

“Peasants are those birds they sometimes have on the supper table, and I’m not a bird—I’m an errand boy.”

SubRosa: Again, thank you for pointing out the errors. And thanks for enjoying this episode! This is one of my favorite scenes, so I took more care in making sure to develop the two characters we know so well, and to portray them as they should be. We can already see in them the personalities that define them in the game, but because of their youth and innocence, it is not quite as distinct.

mALX: I am glad you picked up on the transference in Syl's actions toward Thadon. And Thadon was just too naive and sweet to let it bother him. Plus, he couldn't help being intrigued by the little Demented girl who calls herself a fairy princess.

Acadian: Thank you. Yes, this was originally my first truly dynamic scene. I wanted the first meeting of theirs to really stand out, as it is perhaps one of the most important scenes in the whole story, because it sets the stage for what is to come.

To all: The innocence and naivete of children was important for me to portray in this scene--neither of them really understands the class-restraints and the differences of culture that separates them. Thadon, as we saw, couldn't care less about it, and Syl only does what she is told out of fear. But Thadon's charm manages to break through the layer of protective ice that Syl has already begun to construct around herself, and their friendship blossoms, despite the huge rift between their people. But can it withstand...?



Chapter 2.3--A Forbidden Friendship

The next afternoon, at two on the hour, I decided to sneak out to meet Thadon. I doubted that he would actually be waiting for me, until I saw him sitting on the rock where I’d been crying the day before. I noticed right away that his hair looked freshly cleaned and it shined in the sun; he also had it pulled back with a leather cord, and he looked very handsome. Was it because of what I said? Was he trying to impress me?

He jumped up the moment he saw me coming, and exclaimed, “Syl! You came!”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Well, sort of—you said you would try. I’m glad that you made it.”

I looked behind me and around, to be sure that no one was watching us. Then I took his hand and began walking toward the door to Bliss, saying, “We must go quickly, so nobody sees us. I could get in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“I know,” he said, following me cheerfully. Somehow I doubted he really understood just how much trouble I would be in if we were caught. He obviously had never been caned before….

Once we passed through the doorway into Bliss, I relaxed a little more. Though I would stick out very obviously as a Demented girl, no one there was likely to recognize who I was, if they even cared, so I was out of trouble—at least for awhile.

Bliss was nothing like I had ever seen, and I was in awe right away. The streets were paved and clean, the stone buildings were glistening and white; nothing like the grey and weathered buildings that lined the mostly unpaved and muddy streets of Crucible. The air was fresh, and it smelled of a mixture of jasmine, aster blooms, and various spices—cinnamon was the most prominent, and it tickled my taste-buds, exciting my senses. The air in Crucible was nothing like it—more a mixture of must and decay, most unpleasing to the senses.

The water in Bliss, which was the same water that ran through the House of Mania’s throne room, was channeled into a sort of waterway that flowed in waterfalls and streams through the city. The water was clear and clean, unlike the water in Crucible, which was anything but clean once it left the House of Dementia and flowed into the streets of the city, making the mud even worse in some areas. There was no channel for the water in Crucible to flow through, so it was rather unsightly, and it caused problems with insects and contributed to the growth of mold on some of the buildings and statues.

Another difference between the two halves of the city was that everyone in Bliss seemed cheerful and vibrant, so full of life. Muurine always said that it was because they were all on drugs, but they just seemed happy to me. No one gave me any odd or unfriendly looks, though I very obviously didn’t belong in their part of the city. They all greeted me kindly, with a smile and a wave, or a nod of the head. Thadon greeted everyone we passed, and they all seemed to know who he was, and they liked him.

“I have to stop at the shop, first,” he said to me suddenly, bringing me out of my thoughts. “The Duke ordered a new pair of shoes, and they arrived from the cobbler in Highcross today.”

“All right,” I replied. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Why?” he asked, giving me a funny look. “Don’t you want to come in with me?”

“I don’t know if I should; won’t they ask me to leave?”

Thadon chuckled. “You’re very strange, you know that?”

“No, I’m not!”

He shrugged and went on. “Tilse Areleth is really nice. She owns the shop. She won’t make you leave.” He lowered his voice a little, and said, “She’s the one who tips me with real money! Come on, you’ll see!”

He pulled me by the hand into the shop, which had a sign out front that read: Common Treasures. Once inside, we were greeted by a tall woman with flawless blue skin, red eyes, and copper colored hair—she was a Dunmer, or Dark Elf. All Dunmer had blue, green, or grayish skin, and red eyes. Some people were afraid of them, but I thought they were beautiful and exotic.

“Greetings, children,” the woman said. “Thadon, who is your friend?”

“Hello, Tilse!” Thadon beamed. “This is Syl. She’s a Demented faerie, but she’s actually very nice.”

Tilse Areleth smiled warmly, and her red eyes turned to me without a hint of unkindness. “It’s so good to meet you, Syl. My name is Tilse, and I own this shop. Feel free to browse, and buy anything you like. And because you are Thadon’s friend, I’ll even give you half off anything you buy.”

“Th-Thank you,” I stammered, shaking her hand and forcing a smile. I was always shy around people I didn’t know well, but it was especially so around Manics.

“Actually,” Thadon put in, “we’re here to pick up a package for Lord Antonius.”

“Ah, yes,” said the shopkeeper, going behind the counter to retrieve a package that was wrapped in brown paper. “Shoes, are they not?”

“That’s the one!” he chimed, taking the package in exchange for money. “Thanks, Tilse.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’m always happy to be of service to Antonius. Let him know I’ll be at his supper tonight; and also tell him that I get to have him first afterward. Last time he chose that floozy, Mathilde, and I don’t appreciate it after all I have done for him.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Thadon. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I figured I likely didn’t want to know, either.

“Thanks,” Tilse replied with another smile. Then she held out her hand. “And here, keep one of the coins, for your troubles.”

Thadon eagerly accepted the coin, though he had been expecting it. I was surprised then, when she pulled out another coin and offered it to me, saying, “And I can’t forget to tip your helper, too. Go ahead. Take it.”

I hesitated, as I had never been given money before. But Thadon looked at me in an urging manner, so I took the coin and thanked her for her generosity.

Before we left, Thadon ended up trading his coin back to her for a bag full of sweets; he asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head. I wasn’t about to blow my first drake on something so unnecessary; I was going to save it for something special, perhaps.

He shook his head with a chuckle, as if it were odd for me to save my coin. But then he took my hand and led me out of the shop with barely a goodbye to the shopkeeper.

“Where are we going next?” I asked, as he led me through the city.

“To take a break and enjoy our reward,” he replied. “That was my only errand for the day, and the Duke isn’t expecting me back for another hour.”

He took me to a beautiful area that was like a park of some sort, where waterfalls and fountains flowed beautifully around colorful plants and flowers. There were a couple of people walking together there, but they paid us little attention as he led me to one of the bridges that crossed over the stream. Flower petals that had fallen off some trees nearby were floating on the water, and it was enchanting.

Thadon perched up on the railing of the bridge and began eating his sweets, while I stood awkwardly nearby, watching him eat. Then, with a mouthful of chocolate, he offered some to me; but I declined, even backing away.

“Why not?” he asked, after swallowing his mouthful. “Don’t you like chocolate?”

“I…can’t,” I replied, backing up another step.

Thadon raised his brow and wrinkled his face in confusion. “Why…can’t you? That sounds awfully silly. It’s just chocolate—it’s not like it’s poison or something.”

“I’m…allergic.”

“Allergic? How can you be allergic to chocolate? That doesn’t sound natural. Who told you that?”

“My parents did, because I almost died from eating some when I was three.”

“That’s odd. I’ve never heard of someone being allergic to chocolate.”

“Well, now you have.”

He lied back on his elbow again and swung his leg as it dangled off the edge of the bridge. Then he popped another chocolate into his mouth, and said, “That’s very sad, you know. Chocolate is my favorite thing in the world! I would die if I was allergic. I would eat it anyway.”

“That would be foolish,” I replied. “Why would you kill yourself just to eat chocolate?”

“Because it tastes so good; I just couldn’t live without it!”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t.” He chuckled a little, and then he giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

He snickered, then replied, “I was just thinking, if I were allergic to chocolate, then they would have to put on my gravestone: ‘Thadon. Died a very happy boy, with a mouth full of chocolate!’”

He laid back his head and held his stomach as he shook with laughter, but I was not amused. I thought he was being entirely foolish, and I found little to laugh about having a deadly allergy. But then he suddenly lost his balance and fell into the water below. I gasped and ran to the side of the bridge, to look down at him. He was soaked to the bone but uninjured, and his chocolates floated away.

“My chocolate!” he cried in alarm, sitting up and watching it disappear down the stream. Then he let out a disappointed sigh and splashed his hand in the water. But when he heard me laughing, he looked up and smiled at me. He began laughing, too, as he pulled himself up.

“Perhaps it’s a sign from the Madgod that you shouldn’t be eating chocolates,” I suggested through my laughter.

“Only when I’m around you,” he replied. Then he bowed to me as if he had just put on a show. I laughed even more, and then ran down to the edge of the stream as he bent down to rinse his hands in the water.

“You look ridiculous,” I giggled, as he smiled up at me in his water-drenched state.

“Oh, really?” he asked. Then, out of nowhere, he grabbed the hem of my skirt and pulled me into the water with him.

I screamed as I splashed into the cold, knee-deep water, and at first I was furious. But when I saw him laughing again, I couldn’t help but join in, and after he helped me up, we stood in the stream together laughing like a couple of clowns and splashing at each other.

When we settled down, he climbed out and helped me to do the same. Then we tried to shake ourselves off while the warm air and sunshine began very slowly to dry us off. He stood there smiling at me for a moment, until I asked, “What?”

“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said with sincerity. “It’s like a melody on the breeze, and it’s pleasing to my ears.”

I became bashful again, and I looked down at my dripping black skirt as I cleared my throat. “I’m going to have a hard time explaining this to Muurine and my father….”

“Who’s Muurine?”

“My governess,” I replied. “She’s been with me for most of my life, and she takes care of me all the time since my mother died….”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It was Alanwen; I’m sure of it.”

“Alanwen…?”

“My father’s concubine…. He says she’s not guilty, but I know she killed my mother. She had to have done it; no one else could have possibly been responsible.”

“Why won’t he punish her then?”

“He loves her,” I replied with a sigh, leaning on the railing, as we were back on the bridge again. “But she doesn’t love him—not really. She just wants to have my father all to herself and be his wife. But my father isn’t going to marry her. He knows better than that.”

Thadon didn’t answer. He just let out a sigh and looked down into the water. It was not like him to be quiet—that much I had already figured out—so it intrigued me.

“What’s wrong?”

He shrugged and turned away, leaning on the railing more and sighing heavily. Then he said, “My parents died when I was six. I don’t remember them a whole lot, but I do still miss them.”

“How did they die?”

“On the road from Hale, where I was born; they were attacked by Grummites.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“I was with them, but my mother hid me in some bushes when the attack began. Just as she got up and turned back to help my father and my older brother fight, her throat was slashed right in front of me….”

His voice broke then, and I saw that he was trembling as he began to cry. The experience had been traumatic for him, and he was still terrified. I put my arms around him, and he soon began to relax. When he looked back up at me, his green eyes were still filled with tears.

“Because the Duke was a friend of my mother, as my aunt was married to his brother at the time, he took me in and has raised me ever since. You were right, Syl; I’m only a peasant….”

Taking his hand, I smiled, and said, “No. I was wrong. You are a prince, to me, Thadon.”

He looked up at me and smiled, then threw his arms around me. We stood on the bridge there, dripping and cold, but locked in a warm embrace. After that, he grabbed his package for the Duke and began leading me back to the palace. We held each other’s hand very tightly as we walked, and I said, “I’m glad you are my friend, Thadon. I’m sorry I misjudged you, at first.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I’m glad that you’re my friend, too. We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Syl?”

“Of course,” I answered, with a warm smile, as he opened the door to let me into the palace grounds. And so it was—we were friends.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 13 2011, 07:17 PM

That was just absolutely adorable! I never would have imagined Syl and Thadon being such cute kids, but now that I have seen it, I cannot picture them any other way. Portraying this scene from their childhood was an excellent choice, as you help us bond with both the characters before they grow up, and things start to get really nasty.


I would die if I was allergic. I would eat it anyway.
I am sure he would! Here we see the road that led Thadon to Felldew. Who ever would have imagined that chocolate is a gateway drug!