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

[hazmick]

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

[mALX]

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

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

[SubRosa]

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

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

[Lady Syl]

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

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

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

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



Chapter 9.3—Desperation

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understand what?”

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

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

“Then what is it about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Jul 13 2011, 02:02 AM

[hazmick]

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

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

[mALX]

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

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

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


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

[hazmick]

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

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

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


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

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

[mALX]

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

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

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


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

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

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

[SubRosa]

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

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

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




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

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 11 2011, 08:19 PM

[Lady Syl]

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

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

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

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





Chapter 10.2—The Breton Farmer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you know?”

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

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

“Is she beautiful?”

“She used to be. But now….”

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

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

“How many children do you have with her?”

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

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

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

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

“A farm? Where?”

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

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

“Do you? Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old are they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Jul 19 2011, 11:59 PM

[hazmick]

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

[mALX]

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

[SubRosa]

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


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

[Lady Syl]

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

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

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




Chapter 11.1—The Penitent One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

“Working? What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“Cutter, what are you talking about?”

She smiled. “I’ve got a plan.”

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Aug 16 2011, 10:25 PM

[hazmick]

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

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

I also cannot wait for more of the Claude mystery!

[Lady Syl]

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


Chapter 11.2—The Penitent One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alanwen!” my father cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Syl, you are forgetting your place.”

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

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

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

[SubRosa]

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

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

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

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


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

[Lady Syl]

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

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



Chapter 12—Too Early Seen Unknown…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Since when did you become her biggest fan?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, really? Enlighten me, then.”

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

“We—what? Have you gone mad?”

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

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

“Not if we’re wearing disguises….”

“You’re serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure I’d rather not find out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I? I hardly noticed.”

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

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

~End Part One~

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

This post has been edited by Lady Syl: Aug 20 2011, 05:59 PM

[Lady Syl]

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

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

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



Chapter 1.1--Born in the Realm of Madness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we play outside?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s Mazken, Jansa?”

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

“But I thought you were Dark Seducers?”

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

“The Aureals?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does it do?”

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

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

“To keep them from killing the Duke.”

“You mean Ada!?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“What is…discern?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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