SubRosa:I liked your Homer Simpson link!

And I will definitely make Baenlin the same one from Bruma. How and why he goes there will be a side story that I'll work into it much later in the story... The details of it will generally be the same as I already had for him leaving the story when he does, but I never really specified where he ended up, so it will be nice to stretch my wings a little in that direction... Of course, that's quite a way off...

mALX:Yes, I figured it was a good age to introduce both the crush and the bow--so why not place them hand-in-hand? Of course, since he's not in the game, we know it doesn't last, but...how does it end and in what way...?

Acadian:Thank you! I am thrilled to know that my writing style is agreeable, because one never knows for sure... Yes, it is not likely to end well, for many reasons. Of course, there will be many surprising twists before the end truly comes... (I love hinting at these things...Hopefully I am successfully making you all want more!)

And oh yes, she will have a love for the bow, much like both Buffy and Teresa. Afterall, she is naturally pre-disposed to marksman... Blunt weapons will only draw her away from it in the future because she wants to feel more powerful and kill quicker--understandable from her perspective, I suppose.


Chapter 4.1—The Elven Maiden

One of the teachings of the Demented is that pain and pleasure are very much one and the same. I never understood this teaching until I was about thirteen. While cutting into one of the ingredients for a potion Muurine had instructed me to make, my hand slipped and I cut into my wrist. It bled pretty badly, and I gasped and quickly reached for a cloth to stop the bleeding. But then, for some reason, I just stopped and stared at the blood as it ran down my arm. The rush I felt from the adrenaline pumping through my veins was intoxicating. Suddenly, I felt more alive, and it was both exhilarating and unexpected. When I began to feel lightheaded, only then did I heal myself and clean up the blood that had dripped to the floor at my feet.

After that, I began to cut myself whenever I wanted to feel that rush again. It was like a drug, and it made it easier to forget the loneliness and the emotional pain I held bottled up inside of me. The anguish was relieved, little by little, each time I dragged the sharp blade across my flesh, and I thanked the Madgod for revealing this to me.

Over the next few years, I grew from a somewhat awkward and lonely child, into a well-grounded and elegant young woman. With my dark brown hair and my pensive, yet wild, blue eyes, I was certainly noticed by the men who were constantly around me. A lot of men, both young and old, were attracted to me, and I enjoyed the attention quite thoroughly.

Whenever my father had me show off my combat skills to the members of his court, I always drew in quite a crowd. Dressed in the unique ebony and silver armor of the Dark Seducers that my father had commissioned for me as a gift for my sixteenth birthday, when I was made an honorary commander of a regiment of Dark Seducers, I looked very good to any man who had eyes. Even though the armor didn’t look like it would do much for protecting someone, it did its job flawlessly. Of course, it helped that my armor was heavily enchanted.

On a given day, the court would assemble in the main hall, while my father sat in his throne, his steward sitting nearby. My father had so thoughtfully assigned Alanwen as my trainer, and the two of us would suit up in our armor and prepare for battle. Then we fought before my father and his court, and I proved myself to be quite a skilled fighter. The fighting was not staged, nor did we use blunted weapons. That is not the way of the Demented. However, the fighting in court was not as brutal as the fighting elsewhere, and we went fairly easy on each other…by Demented standards, anyway.

Most of the time, much to my displeasure, the fight would always end with me on my back, defeated. But I had been working extra hard to improve my skill, and one afternoon it finally showed. This time the fight ended with Alanwen on her back, the point of my sword in her face. With my intense hatred for her, I would have loved nothing more than to run my sword through her skull. I fought with myself not to do it, in front of my father and the entire court, for what seemed like a millennium, though it was only a few seconds, in actuality.

The only thing that really stopped me from exacting my revenge on her was that she smiled slightly, impressed, and spoke to me. “You have learned very quickly, Syl. I shall have to watch my back.”

“Yes,” I replied, still holding the sword in her face and glaring hatefully at the woman I believed had murdered my mother. “And I’ll watch mine.”

She raised a brow as I got up from her and threw down my sword, after my father had risen from his throne and begun to clap his hands. It had taken all of my strength not to run her through just then, though I know it would have meant imprisonment and possibly even torture for me. But I would have her yet. Now was not the time for revenge.

My father came to me, placing his hands upon my shoulders and looking at me with a father’s pride, as his mistress pulled herself up to her feet. The two of us locked eyes as my father embraced me, and it was obvious that neither one of us trusted the other—however, this was the first time she had ever perceived me as a possible threat.

After my father praised and congratulated me, he went to Alanwen, and I was approached by his steward just as I was pulling off my gauntlets. Lucian Jarol was a man of noble Imperial ancestry, apparently also blue-blooded. He was handsome, even at the age of 43, and he’d had his eye on me ever since I began blossoming into a young woman. I was hardly interested in a man of his age, especially considering his reputation with women, but I still liked the attention, and I’ll admit I did flirt with him from time to time.

“You fought very well today,” he said, taking my hand and pressing it to his lips like a complete gentleman. “Your skill is exceptional. I’m quite impressed, milady.”

“Thanks,” I replied, shrugging as if it were nothing. I flashed him a look with my eyes just to tease, and began walking away, but he caught up to walk beside me and kept talking.

“You know, Syl, I am a very wealthy man, even without my position as your father’s steward. My family is one of the oldest and most prominent families in all of Dementia, and I am the only one left to hold all of the wealth they had brought with them from Tamriel. My ancestors were descended from kings, you know.”

I smiled, trying not to laugh, because I knew what he was doing. “And…your point is…?”

He stopped me by taking my arm, looking straight into my eyes. The intensity of his gaze made me shudder, and I was surprised by his abrupt and informal manner with me.

“I have much to offer to a beautiful and well-bred young woman, such as yourself.”

“What can you give me that my father cannot?”

“I can offer you freedom,” he replied, as we began to walk again. “And a title…I am a lord, you know.”

“Yes, I do know… But what makes you think I want to marry you?”

He smiled. “I can see in your eyes that you are interested.”

“In being tied down? No, thank you.”

He stopped again, taking my arms and looking at me intently. “I will not deny that I want you, Syl. Say you will be my wife, and I’ll give you everything that you desire—including the freedom to come and go as you please.”

I pulled away, taking his hands off me. “And if I say ‘no’? Will you try to murder me for refusing you?”

Laughing, he reached out to take my hand again and pressed it to his lips. “You have a wonderful sense of humor…. The answer is, no—I shall not murder you. Apart from the fact that your father would surely execute me, I have no desire to ever hurt you, Syl. And I would never force a woman to be with me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I replied, as I had heard differently.

“You are bold,” he said, his jaw flexing.

“I am honest,” I retorted. Then he shrugged.

“Perhaps…but that was meant to be a compliment. I like brazen women.” He paused here to look me over. His eyes burned with desire, and he went on to say, “I will not deny that once you make the decision to be my wife--.”

“If,” I corrected him.

“Yes,” he sighed, “—if you make the decision to be my wife, you will be expected to remain completely loyal to me.”

“What would happen if I were not?”

His jaw set firmly and I could see that he did not like my question. “I will not tolerate infidelity. I had enough experience of that with my first wife.”

“Your first wife—what happened to her, exactly? Did you kill her when she was unfaithful to you?”

He laughed again. “I do like your feistiness. And your sarcasm…. It’s enticing.”

“You wish to tame me,” I observed.

“I want to ride you,” he replied hungrily, pulling me close to his body in a moment of impassioned fervor. “I like my horses wild.”

I should have slapped him; he would certainly have deserved it. But his intensity was almost intoxicating, and I had never been with a man before, though I wanted to be. His forcefulness was exciting to me, a naïve and innocent elven maiden who had lived a very sheltered life. I had wanted to experience the fullness of my womanhood ever since I began turning into one; but I managed to control my youthful urge, and I pulled myself away from him.

“I am not a horse,” I said, feigning insult at his last comment. “I am a lady, and you will speak to me as such. Good day.”

I began to walk away, toward my quarters, but Lucian followed and stopped me from going inside. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me aside, where we were hidden around the corner, by the rarely used alternate door to my father’s private garden. Someone was walking in the corridor nearby, so we were very quiet, as Lucian held me close to his body in the shadows. When the servant was gone, having turned down another corridor, I pulled away from him and slapped him across the face.

“How dare you put your hands on me?! I could have you thrown in the dungeon! Don’t think that my father would even hesitate to torture you for your indecency.”

“Please,” he said, “I meant no disrespect, honored madwoman. But how long are you going to go on teasing me the way you do? What I said before, and what I did just now—I simply meant….”

“I know what you meant,” I said, cutting him off. “But you are a fool if you think I would give into your advances in such a way. I am an innocent woman, sir—but you would treat me like a common harlot.”

“No, milady, I…I never meant to treat you in such a way.” He dropped to his knees to beg my forgiveness, reaching up to grab me by the waist, touching my bare flesh, and making me yearn for more. But he only meant to plead with me, saying, “Milady, please, forgive my insolence. I got carried away. You have this power over me that I cannot understand…. Can’t you see that I want you for myself?”

“As your wife, or as your harlot? You have not made your intentions all that clear to me, madman.”

“Syl, I want you to be my wife. I want to give you all that you desire and more. I want to share with you my fortune, my manor, and my bed. Please. Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

“Why would I want to do that? I am barely sixteen, milord—hardly ready to settle down and be a wife, when I haven’t even begun yet to live. Besides, I’m not sure that I trust you.”

“I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you mean. I do not dispose of women in such a manner. The only women I have ever killed were lovers who were trying to kill me for my money.”

“And how many has that been?”

“Well, most of them, actually,” he replied with a grin that seemed out of place.

“And how do you know that I won’t do the same?” I asked, returning his smile.

He chuckled and took my hand, placing it on his arm. “We shall just have to trust each other, won’t we?”

Now I smiled; but then I pulled away and began walking toward my quarters. He followed me again, but I stopped him at the door. “I’m sorry, honored madman, but I am not interested in your offer. Now, if you’ll excuse me—I need to get changed, and I do not want your company while I do so.”

He sighed in disappointment and stepped back as I closed the door in his face. Just to be on the safe side, as I did not trust him at all, I locked the door and left the key inside, to prevent him from peeping, should he desire to take such a risk.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 26 2011, 03:51 PM

So Syl has discovered cutting? It seems like a perfect fit for the Demented. Likewise the belief that pleasure and pain are intertwined.

Syl has indeed gone through a rite of womanhood, being accosted by a persistent pervert. And one who is 3 times her age no less. I cannot tell you how many times I have had men literally follow me around. Once even after I got in my car and drove off. I was on my way to the police station when he finally gave up and turned down another street.

I am sure we will not be seeing the last of Lucian. Given that this is Dementia, I am sure it can only end one way, with someone stretched out on the floor in a widening pool of blood. Likewise, now that Alanwen has discovered Syl to be a real threat, I am sure we will be seeing a final reckoning there as well. Things are certainly looking exciting!


nits:
but you would treat me like a common wh*re.
I feel you pain here, as the forum swear filter will change the word you want. But putting a * in the middle of it does not look good. I suggest using a word that will pass the filter. Such as strumpet, harlot, or tramp.

A delightfully hormonal episode that fits both darkly and perfectly into Dementia.

First, Syl discovers an intoxicating relationship between pleasure and pain. Fortunately, healing spells entirely change the fabric of 'practicing bleeding'. Secondly, she battles with an understandable desire to 'run her through' after dropping Alanwen to the floor at swordpoint. After all, Syl believes Alanwen to be responsible for the death of her mother and trespassing into her father's affection. I agree with SubRosa, that I suspect Syl and Alanwen are far from done with each other. Finally, Syl is both repulsed and intoxicated by the older Lucian's ardent advances. I suspect that even at her young age, she is fully his equal at teasing, enticing and thwarting ardor. In each of these cases, you do a superb job of capturing what Syl is feeling.

I'm thoroughly enjoying this!

Yes, it's very painful to be censored when I want to use more realistic language for some things... *sighs in disappointment* But I understand, so I will change it to harlot. There are times I use the word 'harlot' anyway--I try to use whichever term is more fitting at the time... But, alas! I must behave.

Yes, Lucian is not someone we will grow fond of in anyway, to say the least... Oh, that's just awful how you were followed. Thankfully you weren't hurt. I've had some perverts bother me, too, but I've managed to protect myself well enough, thankfully. Ugh, even just today I had some new guy at the Beth forums try to solicit me through the PMs, and I was like, um, no way! He gave up after I told him I was married and had two kids, so I won't report him unless he decides to bother me again. The nerve of some guys...

And yes, I thought cutting would be a fitting thing, though it's a rather disturbing and very sad thing for someone to do to themselves. But I can understand it from a psychological point of view, and I feel great compassion for anyone who does it. I just hope they get help, of course...

I would report this guy anyway. My reason is simple. He did it to you, he will do it to others as well (especially those with avatars like yours). And the next person he harasses may not have the balls to chase him off, and he can end up making that person miserable and even drive him/her off the forum. Keeping silent about his behavior only condones something that is inexcusable.

In addition, let me add this. I haven't commented on your story because others are already doing such a great job of it. But I want to let you know that I am reading this and finding it very well written and a very interesting perspective. Though I don't like the Shivering Isles storyline, its foray into madness and the psychological ramifications of the choices you are given in this storyline are fascinating. And the Duchess of Mania is one of the most fascinating characters in this expansion as far as I'm concerned. I'm glad you decided to tackle her story and tell us her perspective.

Argh... those forums can harbor some terrible idiots. Not nearly as bad as the Nexus, but still....

Syl has discovered EEEEEMO!!! NOOOOO!!!

Well, to be more serious, masochism is a good way to hammer home the point of this realm being one where the abnormal is normal. If Syl does enjoy spilling her own blood, that's her decision, but I'm going to have to draw the line on if she decides to try a bit of body-painting. She's a madwoman, not a savage.

Now, if you have Syl fall in love with a lion-man, we could probably call that envious pillock Gaston! He is a bit smoother than him, but nevertheless, he is not the kind of guy I would want to hang out with, and I am glad Syl was able to resist his advances despite her attraction.

Thanks for the advice. He has now been reported.

Good choice. One less pervert to harass those forums can only be a good thing.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Apr 22 2011, 02:47 AM

I agree with SubRosa, the shock of Syl being a cutter was quickly replaced by the feeling of it being apropos for what we know of her in game and in your story. Bravo for slipping that in and letting it hit us like a ton of bricks and knock us off our seats.

Syl is def growing up in this one, liking the tease; fearing the actual game. Awesome Write !!

SubRosa: Indeed, Syl and Alanwen do not make for a very loving friendship, do they? But perhaps Syl has carried her hatred for Alanwen further than she ought? And Lucian--of course, we can already see in his persistence that he is not likely one to give up... It doesn't bode well...

Acadian: Thank you! Yes indeed--Syl is on quite the hormonal roller-coaster at this point. She does a pretty good job keeping herself under control, but perhaps only because her survival depends on it. She is certainly no weakling, and Lucian doesn't seem to realize his mistake in wanting to control her...

haute ecole rider: Thank you--and I certainly understand the lack of comments. I often find myself at a loss for words, even as I reply to the wonderful comments all of you give. I feel like I just repeat myself over and over again, and I can't really express the fullness of my gratitude in words... I am very glad that you are reading and enjoying it, however.

TK:Aww, no body-painting with her blood? All of the next four chapters revolved around it! Now I have to go back and re-write them... J/K

No, she's not a very artistic sort, anyway. She will be getting distracted from her wonderfully-blooming "career" as a Demented warrior, however, as you are about to find out. She has a long road of distractions, mistakes, and learning the hard way ahead of her....

mALX: Thank you! Indeed, quite shocking, yet perfectly fitting. Actually, I got the idea to add cutting to Syl's story from four places: Cutter the smith, the Dagger of Friendship (very obvious what its purpose is...), studying adolescent psychology, and watching lifetime movies... All of these combined to form the image of the adolescent Demented wood elf who would one day become the duchess of this rather unusual land...

All: I am, as always, so glad to have you reading and enjoying my interpretation of the Duchess of Dementia's early years, and I hope you will continue to enjoy following her journey through madness... Thank you all.



Chapter 4.2—The Duke’s Delinquent Daughter

Though I was sixteen years old, my father still would not give me very much freedom. He didn’t want me going out with my friends in the city, day or night. Even Muurine thought he was being too strict, but she would never dare to voice her opinions to his face. Instead, she hinted that she would turn a blind eye if I were to decide to sneak out of the palace at night--but if I were caught it would all be on me. I was entirely fine with this, and I started sneaking out right away, not even thinking of the dangers that my behavior could have posed. Youth is often coupled with ignorance, and risk-taking is all too common, even among the Demented. I was certainly no different….

After I was sure that my father was in bed for good, and when the coast was clear, I snuck through the palace and out to the grounds, wearing a dark hooded cloak so as to stay better hidden in the shadows. It wasn’t easy to go unnoticed as I crept through the shadows, trying to stay out of sight, as the Seducers and Saints out patrolling the grounds had eyes like those of a hawk. I was very good at sneaking, though, as my father had given me lessons when I was a child, just for the fun of it. I had soaked up his lessons on sneaking and lock-picking thoroughly, and now I finally had a real chance to use those lessons to my advantage.

Having made it to the door that led to Crucible, I let out my breath, realizing that I had been holding it. I was past the hardest part, but I still had to get through the city in the middle of the night, without being recognized by the Seducers that were on duty there. Making sure that my face was well-hidden beneath the hood of my cloak, I went through the door and carefully made my way down the long staircase, nodding when the Seducer standing at her post greeted me. I was relieved that she didn’t appear to recognize me. Once I was on ground-level, I was mostly safe to roam the streets without being recognized, and I relaxed a little.

I turned to look back up at the stairs, amazed that I had done it. I had snuck all the way out of the palace for the first time since my childhood. It was such a rush, and I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t tried it sooner. What had I been missing?

I took the back streets to avoid being seen, just in case one of the Seducers might still realize who I was, and I made my way to the house of my Khajiit friend, Shavari. Shavari was the daughter of two of the most prominent members of my father’s court, but her parents were much less restricting than my own father was, and she had some of the most infamous parties in all of Crucible. Everyone who wanted to come was invited, but most of those who went were young and foolish, myself included.

Though I had never been to any of Shavari’s parties before, I knew most of the people that were there. Two men I didn’t know eyed me hungrily as I walked by, in search of Shavari. Though I liked being admired, and I wanted to know what it was to be with a man, for some reason I suddenly felt awkward and modest, and I looked away as my face grew hot with embarrassment. I thanked the Madgod it was too dim inside for them to see me well enough to know, and I soon found Shavari standing among a group of friends in a nearby room.

“Syl!” she purred excitedly, coming to embrace me into the fold. “Madgod, I never thought you’d make it to one of my parties! However did you convince the Duke to let you come?”

“I didn’t,” I replied, with a mischievous smile.

Shavari was shocked momentarily; then a smile spread across her catlike face and she clicked her tongue on the back of her teeth. “Well, I never thought you for the type… What changed your mind?”

“I needed to break free,” I replied. “I was being stifled in that palace up there, and I’ve had enough of following my father’s unfair rules. I’m sixteen. I need to breathe, and to live. I’m here for the same reason as everyone else, after all.”

“Perhaps,” she replied in an odd sort of manner. What was she thinking?

Her yellow eyes turned from one side to the other, as she examined our surroundings, then she pulled me aside to speak where no others could listen.

“Syl, now don’t get me wrong—I’m glad that you’re here. I’ve wanted you to come for a long time, but…you need to be careful about how you handle yourself, if you know what I mean?”

“N-No…I don’t know what you mean, Shavari. Should I?”

She smiled vaguely, but I think it was more of a mocking smile than a friendly one, and her ears went back as she bent in closer to whisper, “Syl, some of the people here are…different from the sort of people you are accustomed to at the palace. The men are especially so, and you won’t find many of them acting like gentlemen while they are here.”

“Oh,” I replied, finally grasping her meaning. I blushed a little, and was surprised at myself that I suddenly felt so modest. At court, I flirted freely with the men, and I had even kissed some of them when no one was looking. But now I was out of my usual surroundings, and it was very different.

“Look,” she said, her ears going up again as she took my arm, “I’m not trying to frighten you, or make you uncomfortable. I just want you to know that you have to be more careful around some of the men here—your usual games could wind up getting you into trouble, as the men here aren’t accustomed to empty flirting, you see?”

“Yes…I see. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m your friend—it’s my duty to make sure you don’t get hurt, especially at one of my parties. Just try to relax and enjoy yourself, and watch who you talk to. Be yourself, but don’t let anyone try to make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you feel threatened or uncomfortable, just come and find me, and I will take care of things, yes?”

I nodded, but I didn’t reply. I suddenly felt a little more nervous, wondering if perhaps I should have stayed at the palace after all. What if my father was right? But then I shook those thoughts from my head and tried to follow Shavari’s advice—relax and enjoy myself. I was smart enough to figure out who I ought to avoid, and I could handle myself pretty well with the dagger I kept hidden beneath my skirts, should anyone try to mess with me.

After a couple drinks of wine, I began to feel better and I found the party quite enjoyable. It was nothing like the dull and formal parties I was used to at court, where the only thing to enjoy was the dancing and the live entertainment—which usually consisted of my father’s enemies being tortured in one form or another. But Shavari’s parties were unlike anything I had ever seen, and I was surprised to find that her parents were conveniently absent for the duration of these parties.

Everyone there was drinking, and some were playing party games that only the Demented can enjoy. Our games are dark, and they often involve self-mutilation and torture of one form or another. Pain is our pleasure, and we delight in the agony of ourselves and others.

Some people at the party used skooma right out in the open, and the smell of it made me want to throw up. I had always hated it, though I was used to it because of my father, and I avoided the skooma addicts at the parties without question.

My first night out promised not to be very eventful, and I had every intention of staying only for a short time before sneaking back to the palace. But that all changed rather unexpectedly, when I heard a voice from behind me say, “Greetings, Syl!”

Hearing my name called so suddenly, I was startled, and I turned around to see Galvon Redoran standing there, with a handsome smile. He was a black-haired, grey-skinned Dunmer, and I knew him well from my days spent with Muurine as she gossiped with friends. His mother, Davilia, was one of Muurine’s closest friends, so Galvon and I had spent much time together while they gossiped over tea. As we grew into hormone-charged youths, he began developing a deep infatuation with me, while I simply enjoyed flirting with him. I’ll admit, I was really a terrible flirt in my youth, but I hardly realized that I was even doing it.

Galvon pressed my hand to his lips, and I smiled as I greeted him. Then he asked how I was doing, and how I had talked my father into letting me come to the party. I told him basically the same thing that I had told Shavari, and he was impressed that I would risk so much by disobeying my father.

“Well, I’m glad to see you here,” he said with a charming smile. “Shavari has the best parties in Crucible. Are you enjoying yourself, thus far?”

“I am. But I wouldn’t mind another drink. Some wine, perhaps?”

“I’ll get that for you! Wait right here.”

I smiled as he ran off to pour me a goblet of wine. When he returned with two glasses, I graciously took one and we drank a toast to freedom. We talked for awhile, laughing about his mother’s new favorite hair-style, which made it look like there was a grey bee-hive growing from the top of her head. She was a very pretty woman, but she had a knack for finding the most outrageous outfits and hair styles to ruin her lovely façade.

The more I had to drink, the more our casual talking turned into flirting, and before I knew it, we were headed up to the bedchamber together. I was too drunk and confused to stop it, and though it was the first time for both of us, Galvon seemed to know what he was doing. It was not, however, what I had been expecting—and to be perfectly honest, I was a little disappointed. Until it happened, I had always envisioned that my first time with a man would be special; I wanted it to be like it was in the romantic novels I had read, where love and passion blended to create the perfect atmosphere in which I could be swept away. But instead, I felt awkward the whole time, even after it was over. Galvon, however, was left in awe.

“That was amazing!” he whispered breathlessly as we lay beside each other afterward. He leaned over and tried to kiss me, but I pulled away and began straightening my dress. I didn’t want him to see the disappointment, embarrassment, and regret that was already written on my face.

“Syl, what’s wrong?” he asked, when I headed for the door. “Was I not good? It’s just that I’ve never done that before….”

I rolled my eyes, managing to put on my tough exterior, and I let out a sigh. “Relax, Galvon, you were fine. But I need to get back to the palace, before someone realizes I am gone. It’s almost sunrise.”

He grabbed my hand to stop me from leaving, and then he said, “I want you to stay. Please, Syl, just a bit longer—I love you.”

“Galvon, it was just sex. Let’s not bring love into it.”

“So, that’s it? You just made love to me, and now we’re over with?”

“I didn’t say that. But I don’t want you bringing love into our relationship—I’ve told you that before.”

“So, we’re in a relationship?” he asked, with a hopeful smile.

I rolled my eyes, and said, “I don’t know. Right now I just want to go home. I’m very tired.”

He nodded and agreed to escort me to the palace staircase. We walked very slowly through the streets, and we didn’t talk very much. It was too awkward, and I didn’t want to talk about it. But all of a sudden, we heard a noise, like someone had stumbled into some old crates in an alley nearby.

Galvon drew his sword and pushed me back, prepared to defend me as a tall, thin, and sickly looking fellow stumbled out of the alley toward us. We thought for sure he was going to attack, but he simply stopped and asked, in a thin, ghost-like voice, “’ey, you got some skooma? I ain’t gots none, and the prices ‘ave got so high, I can’t hardly affords it, y’know?”

I was still terrified, as the man continued to look at me in a way that I perceived as threatening. But he was only interested in feeding his habit.

Galvon thrust his sword’s tip forward just a bit, to spook the man, saying, “We don’t have any skooma, old man. Now get out of here, before I have you arrested for harassing a lady of Lord Gelebor’s court.”

The man backed off at that threat, looking at us both fearfully, then turned and started to walk away, mumbling to himself, “I ain’t meanin’ anybody no harm. I just need some skooma….”

When the man was far enough away, Galvon re-sheathed his sword and turned to me. “He’s gone, Syl. You’re safe now.”

I smiled a little, responding by saying, “That was very brave of you, Galvon. I thought for sure he was going to attack us.”

“That old man? Nah, he’s just an old skooma addict. Some of them will try to kill for the drug, but most of them are too weak and feeble even to try.”

“My father’s not, and he has skooma every day.”

“Yeah, but he’s got the money to support his habit, so he can keep himself from getting sick from withdrawals.”

“I never knew you were so courageous,” I said again, in an attempt to hide the fear that encounter had caused me. “Thank you for protecting me.”

He smiled modestly and shrugged. “I’d do anything for you, Syl. I could never let anyone hurt you.”

I offered a thankful, although forced smile, and then continued walking, eager to get home, while trying hard not to cry. I knew he still wanted to talk to me, but we were already close to the palace. When we got to the staircase, I pulled up my hood again and left him without much of a goodbye.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 25 2011, 05:05 PM

The Duke’s Delinquent Daughter
Alliteration ftw!

Youth is often coupled with ignorance, and risk-taking is all too common
Yep, some things never change.

the live entertainment—which usually consisted of my father’s enemies being tortured in one form or another.
Ahh, now that is good old fashioned fun!

So Syl has gone to her first wild party, and had her first pony ride. I thought your depiction of her first time was excellent, because it is so common to reality. No earthquakes, no fireworks. It's just sex, and then it's over, and on comes the awkward morning after. Except with Syl it was still the night before!

Galvon seems to want a lot more from their relationship than Syl is capable of giving. I wonder if he really feels anything for her, or if perhaps he is just using her because of her position as the Duke's daughter? I get the feeling that if the Duke finds out, he will be the 'entertainment' at the next party though.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 25 2011, 06:26 PM

I was completely swept into Syl's evening for a time, and hope you will take that as testament to your skill. Nicely done!

It is good that Syl's first time is behind her, yet I feel a touch of sadness that it was not more special for her. At least she knew the fellow's name.

Your vague references to the sadistic/masochistic nature of the party games were so very and appropriately . . . Demented.

Syl seems to have a detachment about her life that wasn't there in the early chapters, even after her mothers murder. I noticed some of this in game even with her paranoia. You depicted it well - like seeing a window into where it evolved and a few of the catalysts that brought it about.

Like Acadian, I hate to see her first time be because she was drunk and flirting - not filled with the feelings it may have been had the man been Thadon. Of course the first time is always awkward and not given to experiencing fireworks, etc. - but to have no emotional attachment to either the man or the act - that is a sad beginning for her.

All I can say is ... hope to heck she doesn't become PG from it, lol. Great Chapter !!!

SubRosa:Thank you, and yes--it was important that I not get into the cliche of portraying Syl's first time as this wonderful experience complete with fireworks and all of that, simply because I wanted to portray a realistic first-time experience. And also, I wanted to show what happens when someone who lives a sheltered life gets their first taste of freedom...

Also, your insights are always so good and inspiring. Your commentary is much valued, as is the commentary of all my readers!

Acadian:Thanks! I am glad you enjoyed her night as much as her!

And I agree that it's better she knew his name, and at least had something of a relationship with him. Not perhaps what there should have been, but that is sadly how it so often is.

Also, glad you enjoyed my description of the Demented nature of the parties. Yes, somehow I don't think the residents of Bliss would be too fond of the parties held in Crucible, that's for sure.

mALX:I am so glad you caught onto the detachment that really started with the onset of adolescence for her. It's like she sort of developed a way of distancing herself from her own life, as a means of protecting herself from all the pain and sorrow and darkness that life in Dementia really throws at you.

And not to worry - according to lore, elves aren't usually fertile until they reach full maturity. So, she should have another year or two before she has that to worry about...hopefully....



Chapter 5.1—Blood and Wine

While I did remain friends with Galvon, I wanted to forget about that night with him and to keep our relationship platonic. I knew that he didn’t like it, but I reminded him that I never promised him anything, and I continued to enjoy myself at Shavari’s parties while trying to behave myself. Of course, the mixture of alcohol and youth did not allow for constant success, but I was pretty good at controlling myself when faced with the advances of all the men at the parties who would have loved to sleep with the Duke’s daughter. I rarely gave into the raging lust, much to the dissatisfaction of many men.

Muurine didn’t like it when I began returning home a little tipsy. She expressed her concerns, warning me about the dangers getting drunk could pose. “Too many of the young people like to get drunk at parties nowadays,” she said to me, “leaving them vulnerable to be mugged in the streets or taken advantage of—or, Madgod forbid, even worse….”

I rolled my eyes, too foolish and young to listen to her advice, saying, “Oh, Madgod.... Muurine, you’re starting to sound like my father, always worried about me, and for no reason. I’m fine. None of my friends would ever take advantage of me—they don’t need to.” I stopped to chuckle a bit, then finished by saying, “I give of myself enough rather freely.”

I laughed at my joke, but Muurine didn’t even flinch. She was not amused. “Syl, I am serious. You are acting like a fool. You are going to get yourself killed if you keep all this up, and then I’ll be left to take the blame when your father decides to execute me for allowing you to act like this.”

“You’re not allowing me, remember? You’re not supposed to know.”

She sighed in frustration and threw up her hands, then climbed into bed and went to sleep without even saying goodnight. And so, I had won the argument—for now. The next morning, however, it was Muurine who felt she had won.

I slept late, missing breakfast—much to my father’s displeasure—and I woke up with a splitting headache. Muurine laughed a little, saying, “I remember those days….”

“Ohh…. Just tell me how to make it go away….” I laid in the bed, holding my forehead and feeling like I was on the brink of death. If I wasn’t going to die, right then I certainly wanted to. Nothing could have been as bad as how I felt at that moment, so I thought. Unfortunately, Muurine couldn’t give me any relief.

“Sorry, dear,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and giving me a damp cloth to hold over my eyes. “There are no spells or potions to relieve hangovers.”

“Well, there should be!” I exclaimed. That was followed by a miserable, “Ohh….”

Muurine laughed again, shaking her head as she moved some hair away from my face. “I told you that you shouldn’t be getting drunk at those parties…. You missed breakfast. Your father was not pleased. You’re lucky I covered for you, though.”

“Thanks,” I said, with a touch of sarcasm.

“Now do you think you’ll stop drinking too much at the parties?”

“You think I got drunk on purpose? I wasn’t trying to drink too much, Muurine. It just happened.”

“You don’t have to get drunk, you know. It’s a matter of listening to your body. When you start to feel the alcohol affecting you, stop.”

“That’s easier said than done,” I replied, unwilling to listen to her words of wisdom. Again, young and foolish….

“Well,” she said, “if you go on doing this to yourself, then it serves you right. No one has ever been successful in finding a cure for hangovers, though many have tried. You just have to take some responsibility upon yourself, or you’re going to suffer.”

“You’re not helping,” I grumbled. When she started to respond, I launched my pillow at her, and said, “Stop talking! Just let me suffer in peace!”

She chuckled a bit and returned my pillow to me, then got up to walk toward the door, every clank of her high-heeled shoes on the stone floor making my head pound as if it were going to shatter to pieces.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” she said, before leaving. “Your father believes you are ill. He insisted on sending for a healer, but I assured him it was a minor ailment, which should be over by the end of the day on its own…. Perhaps you should think twice about going out again tonight. But, if I know you—which I do—you won’t.”

She was right. I went out again that very night, doing the same thing all over again. I could have prevented myself from getting drunk. I felt what Muurine had been talking about. But everyone else was doing it, and I didn’t want to be left out. So, I joined in and drank too much, regretting it again in the morning. Muurine refused to cover for me again, so I had to go about my day as if nothing were wrong, while she chuckled and smirked; and I hated her all the more because of it.



Apart from Shavari and Galvon, my usual group of friends included an Imperial from my father’s court named Una Armina, whose dream of one day running a museum of sorts would one day come true; and Shavari’s brother, K’Shar. K’Shar was the only Khajiit I was ever intimate with, but mostly we enjoyed each other’s sense of humor. Galvon was jealous that I spent more time joking around with K’Shar than I did doing anything with him, but he would get over it. After all, he was not the first and only person I was friends with. In fact, I had several friends, but the one I would get along with the most for awhile was a newcomer to the group, a Bosmer from Ashwood who came to New Sheoth as an apprentice to the master smith.

“They call me Cutter,” she said, when introduced to me one night at a party. “Evelin is my given name, but don’t ever call me that, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

She spoke in a slow drawl when she said this, and the look in her eyes convinced me that she wasn’t joking. I shuddered as I shook her hand, and asked, “Why do they call you Cutter?”

“I like to cut things,” she answered with a dark smile. “There’s nothing more satisfying than the sound of a sharp blade piercing someone’s flesh, or the feel of it slicing through your own.”

I didn’t know what to say after that, but Cutter smiled and changed the subject. After talking for a little while, I found myself growing more comfortable with her, and we hit it off after that. We were exactly the same age, and we even had the same birthday, which bonded us together, in a way. Her eyes were hazel, and she always wore dark eye-shadow around them, and blood-red paint upon her lips. This style she got me to wear for awhile and the men seemed to like us all the more because of it. My father wasn’t fond of it, but he didn’t pay much attention to me at this point.

[Screenshot—Cutter]

Cutter was a very interesting person. She was much less shy than me, though I was certainly not a wall-flower, and she helped me to loosen up more around the rest of the bunch. She quickly became the life of the party, one could say, and we got along well because we had much of the same interests—most notably, playing with knives and fooling around with men.

Once a week, at her urging, we began going to the tavern at night, which was then simply called The Crucible Inn. The tavern was owned by a disgusting orc named Sharag gro-Ghoth, and his brother, Borzol. Sharag didn’t like us being in there much, because we never bought anything and we only came in to flirt with his customers. But we went anyway, and he couldn’t really kick us out, because as far as he knew, we weren’t doing anything illegal.

The first couple nights, we only flirted with the men and got them to pay for our drinks. But one night, Cutter came up with an idea. She wouldn’t tell me what it was at first; all she told me was that I needed to change into more conspicuous apparel.

“What could be more conspicuous than what I’m already wearing?” I asked, puzzled by her suggestion.

“You need to look appealing, but not wealthy. If the men at the tavern realize who you are, this will never work.” She threw some of her own clothing at me, and said, “Here, put this on.”

Cutter decided that we should seek out wealthy looking men with an interest in Wood Elves, and a willingness to participate in our little games. We would convince a man to take us up to his room, thinking he could have his way with us, and then we would get him to let us tie him to the bed. Once that was done, and his clothes all off, we would make off with his money while we left him tied up. The men never reported us because they were too ashamed and embarrassed, so we got away with it.

Of course, not all the men were into being tied up, so we had to come up with other ways of tricking them. With my growing knowledge of alchemy, I was able to create an elixir that one of us could slip into their drinks while the other distracted them by showing some skin and flirting. By the time they’d get us up to their room, they were in such a state of incompetence that we were easily able to make off with whatever money or valuables they had on them. One bonus my elixir added to our crimes was that it left the men with absolutely no memory of what had led to them being robbed. Once we realized this, we decided to use my elixir every time.

The whole thing was just for thrills, and for the money, as Cutter’s pay as an apprentice was meager, and I didn’t receive any sort of an allowance from my father. I would never have thought up this little scheme on my own, but Cutter had a way of getting people to do things that they might not normally do.

When we weren’t at Shavari’s parties, or picking up foolish lusty men at the tavern, Cutter and I would go to the smith shop, where she lived with the master smith of New Sheoth, who was training her to take over one day. The master smith, Morga gra-Shadborgob, was the most pleasant and agreeable orcish woman I had ever met, and she always welcomed me when Cutter brought me home with her. She left us alone most of the time, and she never told anyone that I was sneaking out of the palace, though she knew without question who I was.

Her six-year-old son, Ushnar, however was a different story. He would always pester us, until Morga sent her grown son, Dumag, to take him back to his bed and get him to sleep. Ushnar was an interesting child, friendly, just like his mother; but he had a terrible fear of cats which had been with him since he was very small. He had a childish crush on Cutter, which was why he always pestered us, but she had an eye for Dumag. I couldn’t understand her interest in an orc, but that’s where our tastes differed. I didn’t mind Dumag as a friend, but he wasn’t quite as friendly as his mother and little brother. He wasn’t disagreeable, but neither was he pleasant.

Once left alone, we would often lie on the bed in Cutter’s small chamber together, talking and laughing like young women often do, and we usually shared a bottle of red wine together, drinking straight from the bottle. Then, when we felt like it, we would take out one of our daggers and use it on ourselves, and on each other. Allowing ourselves to bleed for awhile before healing the cuts, we would lie there and stare at the ceiling, relishing the pain.

Sometimes Cutter would ask to taste my blood, and I would let her. When she asked me to taste hers, however, I was not so open to it. I have never liked the taste of blood, and contrary to popular belief, I do not drink the blood of my enemies.

There was but one time when I was willing to taste her blood, as part of some ritual she thought up. “I want us to be blood-sisters,” she explained to me.

I was hesitant, but she was adamant, and so I gave in. Then we pulled out my dagger—a unique dark blade resembling the swords of the Dark Seducers, made from obsidian—and she went first, cutting my wrist and holding it out to let the blood drip into a cup. Then she handed the dagger back to me and offered her wrist, saying, “Now it is your turn. Cut me and let my blood pour into the cup to mingle with yours, so that we may drink it. When this is complete, we will share a bond that can never be broken, but by death.”

The thought of drinking anyone’s blood almost made my stomach turn, but I swallowed my discomfort and took the dagger. She was eager with anticipation, holding her arm out for me and waiting almost impatiently. I had no qualms about cutting her, and I sliced the blade across her wrist with ease. Then I waited while her blood dripped into the cup with my own, and we healed our cuts with a potion I had made earlier that day.

Smiling wickedly, Cutter used her finger to stir the blood together, and then tasted it from her finger, gasping with delight. Then she lifted the cup into the air, and said, “Spirits of darkness, sisters in blood let us be—an unbreakable bond; in blood unity!”

After saying this strange chant, she lifted the cup to her lips and drank from it. Taking it in for a moment, she closed her eyes and savored the taste, while I watched with a mixture of disgust, apprehension, and curiosity. When she handed the cup to me, I looked down into it, seeing just enough of our blood left for me, and then I looked back up at her with uncertainty.

“Go on,” she said, almost feverishly, “drink it! Drink, and we shall be sisters for as long as our blood fills our veins!”

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and brought the cup to my lips. The crimson liquid was still warm, and the strong iron taste made me nearly cringe. I had to fight not to gag, thinking too much about what it was I was drinking, and when I had finished what was left in the cup, I set it down and looked at Cutter. She was more than satisfied, and I had to force a smile so she would not grow offended.

“Now, we are blood-sisters,” she said in a deep, slow voice. Her lips were still red with blood, and some even ran down her chin. It was chilling. But at the same time, it was exciting.

Syl's first hangover! Not the last from the looks of it either. I see like most people, she did not learn tolerance from her experience.

But everyone else was doing it, and I didn’t want to be left out.
Ahh, to be a teen. It is not easy being different from everyone else. Especially when you are as young as Syl.

Nice to meet more NPCs whom we know from SI, like Una and Ushnar. But best of all Cutter! She is one of my favorite NPCs in the game, not to mention the SI. Not in the least because she is a goth girl. I love her lines about blood and ripping bodies apart. It is wonderful to see her here as an apprentice to the previous smith.

Syl continues to evolve and transform episode by episode as she grows darker. You are really managing this well!

Looking back, she has come a long way since her kiss with the little boy addicted to chocolate. When the little fairy princess talks about torturing her foes someday, the talk is beginning to match her actions. Again, very carefully crafted in such a way that everything she gets into seems to flow naturally for her. Cutter, and her influence on Syl, seems quite significant.

Syl's experimentation into the dark side of SI is leading her in a downward spiral she won't easily pull herself up from. I wonder if Cutter is somehow connected to the pretty girl that watched her from the borders that day she was with Thadon? Great Write !!

SubRosa:That is something I know from experience, in some ways. I didn't fit in because I didn't follow the crowd. I certainly understand the desire to, though, and I thought it was fitting for Syl in her desire to escape the pressures of living under her father's rule. She's rebelling, and not necessarily in a good way...

Oh yes, and Cutter was always one of my favorite NPCs. Something about her has always appealed to me, so I thought she would make a fitting friend for young Syl... And little by little I will bring in more people from the game. Some don't come in for awhile yet, but many of the connections are beginning to show, at this point.

Acadian:Thank you. Evolving Syl's character is something I've put a lot into, because I've been wholly concerned that I would not do it correctly. And yes, Cutter definitely plays a huge role in Syl's evolution, because Syl is most impressionable in her current state of transformation from childhood and adolescence into adulthood.

mALX:A downward spiral, indeed. And, like most things, it will get much worse before it gets better. She will learn much from this experience, though....



Chapter 5.2—Obsession

The more I was spending time with Cutter, the less time I spent with Galvon and the rest of our friends. Most of them didn’t mind it so much, but Galvon was growing increasingly jealous. I began feeling threatened by him, as he was starting to stalk me obsessively, and I couldn’t seem to go anywhere in Crucible without him being there, watching me.

Finally, one day, I decided to confront him about it. He had been spying on me as usual, but he tripped on something and stumbled, falling into some crates, and that caught my attention—as well as the attention of all the other people walking in the area. He tried to hide himself again, but he knew I had already seen him, so I narrowed my eyes and approached him, not even attempting to hide my annoyance with him.

“I saw you there, Galvon. Come out and show yourself, at once!”

After a few brief seconds, he peered out from behind the crates, and then he came out with his head down, looking like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. He smiled awkwardly, and raised his hand slightly, muttering, “Hi, Syl.”

“Why are you following me?” I demanded.

“I…was just in the area, and…I--.”

“Don’t lie to me!” I spat. “I know you were following me. This is hardly the first time I’ve noticed. I could have you arrested and tortured in my father’s dungeon, and don’t think I would hesitate to do so, if you continue to stalk me.”

“But, Syl, I…love you!” he cried. I was horrified, as he knelt there before me in the middle of the street, proclaiming his love for all to hear. A few bystanders watched the scene with mixed expressions. Honestly, it was pathetic.

“Get up! Stop making a fool of yourself, Galvon!” I said. “I have had enough of your jealousy and your obsessive behavior. I will not tolerate it any longer. Leave me alone, or I’ll tell my father about you stalking me.”

He remained on his knees, and he wept into his hands. I wasn’t sure whether to be more angry or embarrassed. I was quite a bit of both, actually, and I rolled my eyes impatiently. He was making a ridiculous scene, and people were laughing at us!

“I thought you would love me!” he cried through his tears. “I thought you cared about me!”

“Just get away from me, cur! You disgust me! I despise you!”

Perhaps I went a little overboard, insulting him as I did, but I was furious with his behavior. After that last outburst from me, he got up and ran off, disappearing for awhile. I felt somewhat guilty for saying such things to him, but I had simply had enough, and I didn’t care if I never saw him again.

Meanwhile, I continued sneaking out three or more nights a week, and my father still didn’t have any clue. He was too busy playing around with his mistress to care, anyway; but I was glad he was distracted. It kept him off my case, at least….

Sneaking around through the back streets of Crucible at night was dangerous, though, especially for a young woman who was walking the streets alone. I knew I was taking a risk that way; but I didn’t really see how easy a target I was for anyone looking to cause trouble, until I found myself in a very bad and nearly fatal situation.

It was especially dark that night, and it had been raining off and on all day. The streets were muddy and the air was cool, and a thick blanket of fog descended into the city. This, alone, made me nervous, but then I got the sense that someone was following me. It was a horrible, terrifying feeling, but I tried to ignore it while I picked up my pace. Thinking I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, I panicked. I started to run, but then I ran straight into a man who caught me in his arms, and I screamed.

The stout Breton man who had caught me laughed at my terror, and I tried to flee. But when I whirled around, I found myself face to face with a tall, slender and fair-haired Imperial, who waved a dagger in my face. He was the one who had been following me, and it seemed they had drawn me into a trap. He laughed in a calm, dark manner, which frightened me all the more.

“My, my, my,” he said, looking at me while his friend held me tightly with a dagger pressed to my throat. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out this late at night, and in this part of town? Don’t you know there are bad men out here, who might do you harm?”

“P-Please,” I begged, “let me go….”

“Certainly, madwoman,” he replied. “But first, my friend and I must teach you a lesson about the dangers of being out here so late at night without a chaperone.”

I swallowed hard, and asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

The Imperial smiled and looked down at my heaving bosom, and I knew then what he had intended. I was horrified, but I couldn’t move because of the dagger pressed against my throat. The Imperial, seeming to know that I was hiding something, reached his hand up under my skirts, sliding them up my legs until he found what he was looking for—my dagger, strapped to my thigh.

“Aha, I just knew I would find something hidden here,” he said with a smile. He pulled the dagger out of its sheath and looked closely at it. “Well, well, well—this is quite a dagger, madwoman. A rare honor, to be given a dagger like this.”

“My f-father is the Duke,” I stammered. But the men only chuckled at my claim—whether or not they believed me, I can’t say, but they didn’t seem to care even if they did.

The Imperial then used my dagger to slice through the laces on my bodice, and his friend laughed with excitement as I began crying and begging them not to hurt me. But he just ignored me, and said ferociously, “Now, let me see--!”

I closed my eyes as tears slipped down my cheeks, and I fully expected to be murdered that night. The Imperial smiled devilishly, while his stout Breton friend continued to press the dagger into my neck, and I said aloud, in a miserable voice, “Sheogorath, help me!”

The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes just in time to see the Imperial’s menacing smile turn into dread as the sharp end of a blade came through him from behind. All of us gasped.

The Breton dropped his dagger in surprise, while the Imperial looked down at the sword that was going through his abdomen. When the sword was pulled out, he dropped to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth as he began to choke on it, and that’s when I saw Galvon standing there behind him, holding a bloodied long sword.

He slashed the blade across the Imperial’s neck, severing his head in one quick swipe, and then he charged at the Breton, who had long since let me go. I watched in amazement, unable to move, as Galvon ran him through. When the man fell dead, Galvon turned to look at me, but I was still too shocked to move or even to say anything. Even more shocking was the look in his eyes—they were dark and almost just as evil as the eyes of the men who he had just slaughtered. It sent shivers down my spine, but I reached toward him and began trying to thank him, only to be cut off.

“I should have let them hurt you!” he cried. “It would have been your own damn fault.” I was stunned by his harsh words, and I couldn’t speak as he continued to glare at me angrily. Then he continued, saying, “But I couldn’t let that happen to you, Syl, because I love you.”

“Galvon, I’m…sorry--.”

“Don’t be. I don’t care anymore. If you don’t love me, I can’t force you to be with me. I’m a fool to have fallen for you in the first place. Go home, or back to Cutter’s—I don’t care. But don’t expect me to save you the next time you find yourself in trouble, Syl.”

He began to walk away, but then I stopped him, grabbing him by the arm. “I didn’t ask for you to save me, Galvon. I don’t need a god-damned hero! But…thank you anyway. You have shown your worth.”

“Just as you have shown yours,” he said, pulling away. But again, I stopped him.

“What is that supposed to mean? I just gave you a compliment, and you shot me down. Why does it have to be all or nothing with you, Galvon? You should have just been happy to have me at all.”

“I went out of my way to please you, Syl!” he snapped, turning on me. “I wanted to be more than just friends with benefits with you, but you’re too much of a harlot to care!”

I slapped him across the face when he said that, taking him by surprise. My eyes glared hotly at him as he rubbed his sore cheek. Then I tore into him, saying, “How dare you speak to me in such an appalling manner, Galvon Redoran! I am a lady of esteem, and my father is the Duke of Dementia. Most men would give anything to have what you have, but you’re too selfish and controlling to let me go! I am not your property, nor any other man’s, and I will not be tied down to a life of quiet submission with anyone! If what I offer isn’t satisfying enough for you, then go find someone else to give you what you want.”

“I want you, Syl!” he cried. “Don’t you see that? I don’t want anyone else—no other women, not even ten—not even a hundred—could give me the satisfaction that you have given me.”

“You have not been satisfied, Galvon. You are not satisfied, because I won’t settle down and stay devoted to you alone. What makes you think I am going to change?”

“Because love can move mountains, Syl,” he said, taking my hands in his and holding them together. “I love you, and I know that you will not go on this way forever.”

“You do not know me very well, then; and it’s clear you have not been listening. I am not going to give myself to you anymore than I already have. Now go away from me, and do not ever speak to me again. You have shown me the extent of your love, and I am not moved. Your harsh words and cruel name-calling have given me all that I need to know how deep your love goes. Goodbye, Galvon. May the Madgod be with you.”

I left him then, to return to the palace, and he never spoke to me again. Eventually, he moved away, after his mother was killed when a skooma addict broke into their house in search of money. What became of him I’ll never know…. Perhaps I was unfair to him, but I had to be honest about how I felt, and to do what was best for both of us in the end. I never held anything against him, and only felt fondness for him in my heart. But I couldn’t love him as he wanted me to, and I wasn’t going to lie just to make him happy. I had to be honest, even if it meant breaking his heart.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: May 3 2011, 04:30 PM

That was an embarrassing scene in the streets with Galvon! I wonder if Syl's father heard of it? If so, I suspect it will go badly for both Syl and Galvon. But especially Galvon!

OTOH, when Syl was accosted in the alley, I was expecting it to be Galvon attacking her. What a lovely twist to have him come to the rescue (because he was undoubtedly following her as well).

and I will not be tied down to a life of quiet submission with anyone!
I practically cheered when I read this! Go Syl!

“I love you, and I know that you will not go on this way forever.”
This almost made me laugh. Such a wonderful switch of the traditional gender roles here. It is usually the woman who is dumb enough to believe that her a-hole b/f who treats her like crap will change his ways because he really loves her. So pleasant to see it the other way around!



nits:
He began untying my corset from the front
Corsets are laced in the back. Bodices are laced in the front. The reason is that corsets are made for the wealthy, who have servants to tie them up for them. Bodices are for everyone else, who have to tie them themselves. (although I have corsets, and can tie them myself. You just need a mirror and some practice.) Plus, you also said that one of the thugs used a dagger to cut through the laces of her bodice a few paragraphs earlier.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 2 2011, 07:49 PM

Ah, yes, I see what you mean. I'm into corsets, too, but I've never had a real one....

I'll change it--since she was sneaking around she'll have on a bodice, and I'll remove the corset... I was thinking she had a corset underneath, but I guess that wouldn't make sense... :facepalm: