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]

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