Curse my father. Curse my father's father. Curse my father's father's father!

One hundred and fifty three years.

That is how many years it has taken for my family name of Reynardine to have become obscured into the fainting shadows of Sanctuary. My father and the men before him had so much time to build and grow and flourish but they have squandered that time!

Archibald. Lavenza. Macasta.

Reynardine is not uttered in the same breathe as it should be.

I have much work to do. Much to undo.

A moment. I take that back.

I do not curse my father's father's father. He was, after all, the first Reynardine of Sanctuary. And he helped build Sanctuary as any of the other important, prominent families that still exist today.

Those that came after him, however, I still curse.

Even myself, to an extent. I cannot believe I let my father shield me from the world, from this city. Keeping me cooped up within his now poor excuse of an estate. Grooming me as if I was a rothe to be married off to whatever suitor he could convince to take my hand for whatever gold and influence was offered in exchange.

Had my father married me off, there would be nothing to save the name of Reynardine from utter and complete oblivion. My imbecile brothers, any one of them, would have continued to make the same mistakes as my father.

Even if I work alone, I will see that my father and brothers are not what this city remembers. Or the last of what is forgotten.