Memoirs of a Madwoman, a novel... by Rebecca Watters Options

[Lady Syl]

Prologue
Undisclosed Location in
the Shivering Isles, the
Realm of Sheogorath
3E 433

Looking at my reflection in the mirror before me, clad in the robe of an Order Priest, I never thought that this was where I would end up. I have betrayed my Lord Sheogorath. I am now an enemy of the man I once worshipped as the Madgod. He had been everything to me, just as He is everything to all of His loyal subjects, Manic and Demented alike. But now He is a man I despise. Sheogorath went too far when He allowed that outsider to come into the Realm and usurp the throne of Mania. Now I want Him to pay for what He did to Thadon, and to me, and to all that I loved. He took from me every person, everything that ever brought me joy and love, replacing it instead with fear, pain, and sorrow. He couldn’t stand the fact that my heart might love another more than it loved Him, so He took from me anyone He saw as a threat to my devotion to Him. How I didn’t see it before is almost shameful. But then, He keeps the truth hidden from us beneath the heavy and binding layers of madness which He claims is a blessing. That is the truth of the Shivering Isles. All of us that live here have been “blessed” with madness.

But no longer am I bound by those chains. The blessing of Order has freed me from slavery to that prattling fool, and my mind is no longer bogged down with insanity. I have come to a place of clarity for the first time in my life. I can now see how my life might have been, if not for Sheogorath and His Realm of Madness. Had I been given the chance to steer my own course, I might have led a normal life of no consequence. I might even have been happy. Instead, I am filled with anguish, and I feel as if my heart has been torn into a million tiny pieces while it still beat in my chest. Death will come swiftly; I no longer fear it, and I will welcome it with open arms. Only in death can I hope to find peace for what I have done. But even then, I may find nothing more than punishment—who is to say?

Thadon believed that when we die, we would all go to a place of perfect bliss and live together for all of eternity, never to feel pain again. But then, Thadon lived much of his life in his own false sense of bliss, a world created in his own mind with the help of his precious drugs. What a fool he was. And yet, what a beautiful soul he had. Even with all of his faults, I loved him. I still do, I guess. Our people can’t understand how a relationship ever developed between us; if you look at it from the outside, it’s easy to be shocked and confused by such an unlikely pair as Thadon and I. But one has to look much deeper, and return to the very beginning to understand. There is more to the story than what has been told, and only my heart still holds the truth of our love. Our love, conflicted by our madness as it was, was beautiful and pure. No one can understand that without knowing how it all began, and there is only one other person alive now who knows how the story goes. I began recording my story before the truth of my insane state became clear to me, and I gave it to a trusted confidant because I believe she will keep my story safely hidden away until the time is right for it to be revealed. Perhaps it never will be. One can only hope.

There is more to my life than what is here and now. I’ve lived 37 years, all within this Realm, and for an elf, I’m still very young. But in 37 years, I’ve had enough misery to last me an entire elven lifetime, and I’m ready to move on—whether to punishment or eternal bliss—or, more frighteningly, to nothingness. Whatever awaits me, I will face it with courage. I have no choice. The time has come, and I must answer the call, even at the cost of life itself, if necessary. And I take with me the only remaining link to Thadon that I have. The rest I leave behind me, and I pray that my story will not be lost. There is so much to it that has yet to be told, and all of it is part of who I am and who I was before. The events in my life have shaped me, like formless clay is molded into a twisted and beautiful masterpiece by the hands of a Demented artist. Everything that has happened to me has brought me to where I stand now, and it was all beyond my control. But the things I have witnessed, and the suffering that I have endured will not go down in history. Those who survive will view me only as a traitor, and I will be reviled.

But perhaps the time will come when my story can be told, and maybe then I will not be so misunderstood by all who have heard the echo of my name, trembled at the sound of my voice, and looked upon my cold and hardened face. So many have feared me. So many have ridiculed and betrayed me. And so many have seen me only as an enemy without a heart. But that is not all that true; I am not so cold and heartless as I have appeared. Like with each person, man or mer, there is more to me than what is seen on the outside. There are layers of emotion, thought, and experience that compose the depths of who and what I am. There is a side to me that was broken, and hidden away for many years. To those who truly knew me, I was a loyal friend, a doting mother, and a passionate lover. However, most people do not see the world for what it is. They see everything around them with a narrow view, and do not look beyond what is plain to see. Though I am a woman with a broken soul and a beating heart, to most I am only the Lady of Darkness, or the Mistress of Death. To them I am simply Syl, Duchess of Dementia….

Syl in Order robes

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Sep 2 2011, 03:58 AM

[Lady Syl]

Acadian:Thanks for the story of the Grasshopper and the Ant. It sounded familiar, but at the same time it didn't. Indeed, it does fit that scene with Thadon and Syl very well.

I am glad you like the links. I've enjoyed the screenshots in everyone else's fan fics, so I decided I could use UESP to add screenshots to mine, to make it a little easier to envision.

Also, thank you for the nit. I fixed it right away.

SubRosa:I've read a lot of old novels, and I loved the pictures in older additions. It's really a shame that we've moved away from that.

Nope, different Baenlin. But I liked the name, so I snatched it for Thadon's cousin. I wanted a similar sound to their names.

I also changed the scene of Syl's beating, so it's more clear how she was beaten. Thanks for the tip--and also the nit.

mALX: Oh yes, it was important for me to show Thadon's charm right from the start. Even as a kid, he was already showing signs of his future casanova-like personality. They say the Duke of Mania has a way with women...

SPEW !!! You always catch me off guard with these hilarious references !!!!--Hehehe. Isn't it great?

Destri:Thanks! Yes, the first chapter was still more of an introduction, so it wasn't as dynamic. But, unless I want to sort of graze through something, from the second chapter onward there is a lot more dynamism between the characters.

And yes, it was also important for me to show the confliction and depth in characters such as Muurine. She loves Syl, but Muurine is literally insane. And we also see an inkling of the strong feelings about what it means to be Manic and Demented that leads Muurine to the ultimate act of betrayal against the Duchess she raised and loved.

Thomas:Thank you. Glad my insanity pleases you.

Yes, caning was brutal but common, and I thought it fit perfectly with the pseudo-medieval world of TES and the Shivering Isles. Poor Syl had to endure caning fairly often as a child, and it taught her the lesson of hard love.

Ceidwad:Thank you. Yes, Syl resists madness for quite some time, in fact, but once she is taken by insanity, we see what she became--I'd say paranoid schizophrenic is a good way to describe Syl's particular form of madness.

And she certainly does take pleasure in winning and in being on top. She is very complex, so while she can be humble and caring, she can also tend to be selfish, demanding, and prideful. She would likely have made an excellent Duchess, if only she were not insane!

All: I thank you most humbly for your compliments, criticisms, help, and support. You are all taking a part in making Syl's story be the best it can be, and your enjoyment of it makes me ever more eager to keep her story going, as well as improve it along the way. You are all my inspiration and my motivation. Thank you for taking the time to be a part of this journey with me and Syl, into the depths of madness.




Chapter 3.2--Lessons

A couple of weeks passed before I even attempted to sneak out to the palace grounds again, but I was not intending to speak to Thadon. I just wanted to find a moment of quiet solitude under the shade of the trees—another much-craved luxury that I rarely got to have. When Thadon came through from running his usual errands in Bliss, he saw me and gasped, running to approach me.

“Syl?” he asked quietly, glancing around to make sure we weren’t being watched. “Syl, are you all right? I haven’t seen you in so long; I thought I was never going to see you again! Did you get into trouble?”

“Of course, I did,” I replied in a rather unfriendly manner. “Are you a fool, Thadon, to still be talking to me? Go away, before we both get in trouble.”

“But, Syl…I…I want us to still be friends. You said that we would be friends forever, and I thought that you meant it.”

“We can’t be friends, Thadon; don’t you understand? We’re not the same.”

“Sure we are. We’re both Bosmer. We both have brown hair. And we’re the same age….”

“None of that matters, Thadon! It’s what’s inside us that is different. You’re a Manic, I’m Demented…. We can never be the same.”

“But, Syl….”

“Just…go away!” I cried, bursting to my feet and shoving him to the ground. “I never want to see you again!”

I ran away from him, as warm tears slid down my cheeks. Returning to the palace, I shut myself in my room, slamming the door so hard that Muurine awoke from the nap she had accidentally taken in a chair, and she sat up, asking, “Syl? What’s with all the noise? Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” I snapped, sitting at my writing desk and returning to my studies, where I was supposed to have been the whole time. Muurine often fell asleep while I attended my studies in the afternoons, and that was how it was so easy for me to sneak out. Thank the Madgod for necromancy and the Rooftop Club, both which kept her up late nearly every night.

She sighed and moved to a chair, still groggy from having been awakened from a relatively deep slumber, and never bothered to ask again what I had been up to that day.

I never did see Thadon again—not while we were children, that is. He was busy serving Lord Antonius, and I was busy with my own life of learning to become a proper Demented lady, whatever that was. I was eager to learn, but I was not an easy child to raise. This was due to my fiery and independent spirit, which often got me into trouble, but no one ever asked me to be anything other than what I was. There is an old elven saying, which Muurine often applied to me: “Elven children are slow to come, and most demanding of their welcome.” Apparently it was even more so with noble elven children, and Muurine certainly had her hands full with me.

I continued to join Muurine while she made her rounds in the city to gossip with friends. While she visited, I sat by with my usual tasks, but now I was instructed also to listen carefully to their conversations, while not actually joining in. She said that it was imperative for me to pay close attention to the forms and patterns of speech in conversation—a lady must have a proper way of speaking, as well as writing. It seemed that there were a lot of things which a lady must do properly, and the lessons got quite boring at times. But I was still eager to be a fine lady, like my mother had once been, and like all the other ladies in Dementia’s court. The way they talked, the way they walked, even the way they ate, distinguished ladies of esteem from commoners. I had to learn those ways, or I would never be truly accepted in my father’s court.

Apart from learning to be a lady, and trying to get better in the schools of magicka, I was also instructed in the study of alchemy. This began when I was eleven, and I came to enjoy it quite thoroughly. It was the only arcane art in which I managed to excel. I still remember the hours I spent with her at her house, listening attentively to her lessons in alchemy. She was an excellent teacher, and I was an eager student. We stood there at the table in her quarters, and I watched as she carefully cut into her ingredients, showing me how to properly harvest the parts that were useful, and paying close attention to her descriptions of them.

“You must watch closely,” she told me, “and make a clean cut where necessary. One slight mistake could make a good potion into a deadly poison. You’ll want to know well which one you make, or you might harm yourself unawares.”

“But how will I know, Muurine?” I asked, fearing the consequences should I make a mistake.

“Listen well, and I will show you,” she replied, smiling as the lesson continued. “The Isles are filled with everything you would ever need to make potions and poisons. There are rich supplies all around you, growing from the earth, and breathing with life. You will likely never need to gather your own supplies, as your father has servants who will do that for you. But it is important that you should know how to identify the plants and each of their parts, and what they are useful for.”

“What are you making now?” I asked, looking at the strange alchemy equipment, and the scores of ingredients she had on the table, and wondering how I would ever remember all this.

Muurine smiled, and replied simply, “We are going to start with an easy task. Making potions to do good things can be much more difficult, but it is almost too easy to make a lethal poison. Today I will show you how to make a poison with the power to stop the flow of blood through your veins within minutes. It is very potent, and it is odorless. One would never know it was there, until it was too late. Take care not to touch anything unless I tell you to, and never drink a potion if you are not absolutely certain of the effects it will have on your body….”

The poison she taught me to make in this, my first lesson, would come to be of use to me in later years, but as a child I had no reason to believe I would ever have use for poisons. Still, I watched and listened carefully, drinking in every part of the lessons, fascinated by the ability to turn seemingly mundane ingredients into powerful elixirs.

However, it was about this time that I became interested in another area of study that would move me ever further away from the arcane arts, and help me to build a reputation for myself that would last me a lifetime. In no time at all, I would become one of the most promising students in the art of combat that Dementia had ever seen.

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Apr 16 2011, 03:49 PM