[A Journal and Collection of Poems Behind a Painting (Isabella Fitzgerald)]

[Empress of Neon]

~Light Without Mirth~

I remember,

Back when it was still naught but flooded ruins. When people were scrambling to make a sense out of the aftermath. The standoff with the Legion and the Rose. The arrival of the Astronomers that made every life and death struggle with the ash storms put to a halt. Tensions high, but shadowed under the need for mutual survival that was put to paper in The Accord. People trying to move forward; to begin anew again. I remember it all, watching from the open door in the ruined home we squatted in at the time.

And I remember just how detached from it all I was.

The chaos that was the Ringfall seemed to be simmering down. But what was a new beginning for others was just an endless, surreal sensation I couldn't escape, for me. It was almost like I had drifted into another's dream. A kinder one, with hope for a new world. But that was absent in my heart. Only that gaping pit remained from that morning past. It yawned,  painfully and constantly, at every little reminder. A child passing with her parent. A young lady with a youthful, juvenile grin. Young women who looked enough like her to bade my eyes to desperately see someone who simply wasn't there anymore. It still happens, even today, when I see someone who looks like her. I still hadn't come to terms with it. Even with Ellan there, trying his hardest to carry me through it. I still couldn't face this world. Why would I even care about its fate, at this point? If it succeeded or crumbled like everything else? This world was never meant for me. I was little more than a ghost sequestered to that ruin and rubble.

She was still gone. And all I wanted was to be with her again.

I attempted several times to end it. To fulfill that same yearning my mother had the night I lost my brothers. What reason did I have to keep breathing? But Ellan was always there to stop me, even when I'd strike and scream at him to let me go. He'd tend to my self-inflicted wounds. See me fed and quenched, when my body started to fade from the refusal to consume. Pulling me away from a rooftop, when I looked just a little too long at the streets below. Hold me, whenever he found me sulking in a corner of the world; weeping. He tried, when I'd given up. He tried so hard to make it work; to move on.

But I couldn't. I couldn't even look at him anymore. Even his eyes reminded me of what we'd lost.

A day finally came, when the sun was rising. Ellan was asleep, unaware I'd awaken from another nightmare in tears. I was wearing nothing but my robes, as I had been for months. I remember seeing how beautiful that sunrise was. Weeping, knowing she wasn't there at my side to see it herself. To live that experience with me. It was the final, painful yawn of that pit that drove me outside the Well. Into the dunes. Into its direction, that sunrise.

I walked, endlessly after it. Long after it had reached its peek. Far out into those scorching sands on my bare feet. By grace alone, I went unharassed. Until my body collapsed in the sands. I remember feeling that exshaustion; that sheer fatigue and sense of waning beneath the heat. It was going to be slow. But I didn't despair. I simply waited for the world to take me.

I awoke later to an elderly man's waterskin between my lips. My body eclipsed my heart's want, and drank with abandon.

His name was Arnib. He was one of a handful of scavengers who'd come across me in the dunes. They'd found me. And for no other reason than a sense of right, shared their precious water with a stranger. Quenching my thirst, as The Mother bade. We had many scavengers in the Old City; many of who would leave you for dead, or slit your throat for your belongings in the situation I was in. Not them; they were different.

I would come to learn in the years after, that this applied to nearly everyone in the dunes. Simply, that they were different. Often for the better.

They tended to me. Nursed me to health. A kindness that I'd rarely been privileged to in the Old City. But there it was; simple kindness for someone in need. Arnib did far more for me than just quench my thirst, though. He tended to me with an ear, that would listen. Kind words to his lips.

I told him everything. Why I was out there. How I lost her. My regret. My despair.

He had nothing but sympathy, all of them. They had hearts, when in my world, so many looked away and moved on. It was so strange and unusual to me; but so beautiful at the same time to see that kind of heart when I'd known nothing but cruelness as a given for so long. While they nursed me back to health, Arnib bade me to keep going. To give this world a chance.

Not to throw away the gift of life my daughter gave me. Promising me, she'd still be there at the end.

A time came, after I had healed and settled into their camp, when they had to leave. Not simply because of the threat of an ash storms, but because that was their lives. That was who they were. Nomadic, even as they all searched for something different; hearth, wealth, family, knowledge, enlightenment. Everyone had their own reasons for being there. Arnib asked if I wanted to be taken back to the Citadel, now that I was well enough to travel. That they could afford the detour.

I told him no, knowing Ellan was still there. With the eyes of my little Meryl waiting to haunt me again.

I couldn't go back to Ephia's Well. I didn't want to. Too many faces from my life before. Too much pain with the memories they stirred. Especially my beloved's.  So he invited me to join them instead. Promising he'd show me the way forward, even in all my grief. The way forward; to keep living. I still wanted to be with her, but I went with him, remembering those words.

"Do not throw your daughter's gift away."

We went, onto a completely different horizon, out into the dunes. They would come to be as family, in a way. With Arnib as a second father to a second world. Escaping the shadows we'd brought over from the Old World still at Ephia's Well, in search of that path he promised. That road forward.

It was the beginning of a journey. One who's first steps were the most painful. Sometimes my knees would buck and I would give into despair again. Kept alive only by the kindness of those dear people. Even when, again, I found a razor or blade to my wrist. They wouldn't give up, or leave me behind. Not Arnib, not Shaniba, not Teleu. None of them.

I was such a weak woman back then; one who'd always lean on others to survive and get by. I was truly blessed to have been founded by them.

In this journey; this wandering; I'd find something I lost in the Old City. I'd learn more of this new world. The Wheel. The people who had inhabited this realm long before we ever showed. I would learn by necessity how to take care of myself. Even others, rather than always relying on other people to see the next dawn through. It was a journey that lasted nearly 9 years.

But at the end of it, I'd find what I'd lost. Something so many take for granted; may it always be such.

A reason to breath again.

*A folded poem at the bottom of the page.*

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Keep it safe; keep it close.

Cherished gift; the barbed rose.

Pulsing and beating; still lives the heart.

Even in grief; if tearing apart.

Keep it safe; keep it close.

Cherished gift; the barbed rose.

Give it a place; worthy of take.

Wary of beast; viles and snakes.

Keep it safe; keep it close.

Cherished gift; the barbed rose.

As long as you can; with blood to weep.

May soil find bounty; let it all seep.

Keep it safe; keep it close,

Cherished gift; the barbed rose.

Give it away; when it's found.

That perfect place; light-kissed mound.

Keep it safe; keep it close.

Life goes on; the barbed rose.

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[Empress of Neon]

~Road Beyond End~

I remember,

Tending to the sick and the dying, in one of her temples. Hiding behind a wagon as melek raiders surrounded us; shooting off a crossbow for the very first time in my life. Dim lit evenings with the sun setting, just outside, in smoke-laden dens where people came to drink, eat and live in a fit of merriment. The natural wonders that dotted the horizons of the sands; from the old pyramids to the cliff-carved depictions of names lost to the pages of time. The mirth on a friend's face, when he held his newborn son for the first time in the world. Most of all I remember the quiet; in-between every breath of that great journey. The quiet and the breeze, in a world without walls.

It is impossible to put it all to a few pages. Those nine years.

My own journey only truly began when, among our first stops, I finally gave an ear to those who spoke for The Wheel. The Wheel was a strange thing to me; an idea of gods who oversaw the domains of mortals in complement to one another, rather than fighting over their worship. Stranger still was their tenants. In the Old City, we had Little Gods; each to their vision on how life was to be lived. But they never never offered the kind of wisdom or guidance you'd find in The Wheel. If anything, they only seemed to promote more conflict and bloodshed  with those outside the faith. "Live as I demand" rather than, "Here's how to live". It was strange to me, different, but in time I came to cherish it. I did not feel as if I was making some sort of pact with a higher being to my good fortune, in worship of the gods here. I felt I was being watched; guided as a family of elders might a young child in need of them most.

Especially Mother B'aara.

I saw how people had some semblance to harmony and order, even in the worst of times. Every last face of the faith seemed to stand for a pillar in that struggle we call life. While many different people had their own interpretations, I think I can simmer my own simply as thus, to every face. B'aara, goodwill.  Agaslakku, strength. Izdu, wisdom. Kula, bounty. Gellema, reprieve. Warad, freedom. The Martyrs, rest. Urazzir, justice.

Only the Unspeakable remained unknown to me; and still does, to this day.

The pillars of these gods are what kept this new world aloft; even as it was dying. To meet a stranger in the Old City was often a matter of life and death if you trusted the wrong person. Here, it was almost a given they were hale and friendly. It was even a hopeful prospect, that the small band ahead of you might have something to trade and exchange rather than a given that they would almost certainly attack you for what little you had.

We traveled great vasts; visited countless villages, shrines and temples; many of which are now lost to the ash storms, to my woe. What was found in the dunes was exchanged to see the barest needs met. Sometimes to an excess, which would come to serve for a later time. We'd avoid violence, but not shy from it when the need to defend ourselves arose. By necessity, I had to learn how to fight to protect the people by my side. Just as I had to learn how to tend to those who'd been injured or wounded.

It wasn't so hard, since I knew the fundamentals. After treating Meryl's wounds for so many years.

Everyone was looking for something. A place to settle down; apprenticeship to a trade higher than our own. A special someone or a higher calling at a local temple. People always seemed to be coming and going, some sooner or later than others. Except Arnib; he was content to simply wander. His home was on the road; always had been. I'd like to think he was the unspoken leader; the constant that binded and made our band what it was; even if we felt aimless, at times. It was almost like following someone sent by the gods themselves to guide us on that great journey. Someone meant to show us life and its true face.

Sometimes we'd settle longer near a village or town. A few weeks, or few months. It helped, I think, living in Ticker Square as long as I did. I was able to make sure we got the most for what was found. An old archaeological find here and there. A saber lost to a battlefield. Any number of things you might imagine stumbling upon in the dunes. Sometimes we'd gotten lucky; coming across lost caches hidden in plain sight. Those were among the few days we could afford a feast; making them all the more cherished.

There were dangers, of course, both on and off the road. And I was reminded time and time again that some things never change; especially the hearts of evil men. But we always got by. Whether it was a band of goblins seeking to kill and rob us, or a horde of orcs on the warpath that bade us to seek shelter. We didn't always have the option of fight or flight, but sometimes neither was necessary. Sometimes a desperate man just needed some bread and water, even if he was being belligerent. Sometimes a monster could be placated with an offering; after all, was life of one of our own so cheap that we couldn't afford to skip a meal? There were other ways to deal with danger in this new world, beyond merit of strength alone. It helped, I think, that we weren't all so enclosed and trapped with one another between the Ringwalls. We were allowed to go our separate ways and keep living; rather than face an endless blood feud with our hated neighbor.

We were free, all of us, in a big open world.

That was my life for the longest time, as I answered Arnib's challenge to give this new world a chance. To see it, breath it. To see the value of the gift she had died to give me. The people, their gods, the land and its trials. In spite of how difficult life could be, there was something intrinsically good between it all. A life where people felt a need to come together, mutually, rather than compete and tear each other apart for what was there. All of it went back to The Wheel. The tenants, the wisdom and the guidance of a pantheon that proved time and time again to be as real as those lost in the Old City.

If not more so.

I was still hounded, though. My grief never waned; even as I found more and more episodes of peace in seeing a gentler world. I was like a specter, watching and admiring, before despairing. Knowing she wasn't here, to live this. To drink and feast with those who I had found company with. To see those great monuments of an era passed. To find praise and admiration in The Warrior's temple, for all her deeds; or even the revelry I knew she might have found in those rare places where Gellemans gathered. It made me smile, then weep, every time I saw a well-hearted spectacle or performance meant to bring us joy; only to find my hand searching for the shoulder of someone who used to be there.

Despite it all, I still mourned. I still pained for her; even when I tried my hardest to be happy for others I'd come to appreciate.

There was also the fear. The gnawing uncertainty of what became of her. Her body, her soul. Where was she? Did she fade with her Little Gods of the Old City? What had become of my baby girl? Who never had the chance to know this world as I did?

One day, Arnib answered that for me himself, when I confessed to him my deepest fears. Explaining to me that The Mother loved all her children; and we were just that. Even those who were wayward and lost. That when we died, we'd return to the waters from which life sprung; her waters. That we'd live again, someday, as our souls slumbered peacefully from whence we returned. The Martyrs kept our dead safe, but it was The Mother who would ultimately weep again; weeping for all her children without life; The Wheel's turning, fated to begin again from whence it all started. I was apprehensive of such a claim at first. After all, we had so many broken promises and false gods in the Old City. What made this promise of a life after any different?

It was my next meeting with an awoken, remembering a life different than his own, that gave me pause. And memory of my own father, Alvaro; he to remembered another world. Another life.

Suddenly, it all made sense. What the awoken were. Why so many seemed to remember different lives than the ones they were living right now. Drops from her tears; each trickling and spurring life anew. The Wheel, The Mother. Even our Promise of a new dawn in the Old City. All of it seemed to fit and align to a much greater truth. About us, our world, our lives and our deaths. It did not bring me peace. But for once, in years, I finally had something to believe in; something I -could- believe in at all. After years of wandering, living, I saw something to grasp; to hold onto. I found it in The Mother. The Wheel.

Hope; for a new life after. For her.

I started to live as she might've bade. Not to appease her, but because I saw it. A kinder world; one inspired by her love. A world where kindness beget kindness. Where people prospered and live happily in mutual harmony. A world still blooming in place of the old; so much greater than whatever majesties my ancestors knew in the Old City.

It was a world waiting to be filled with new stories. Not those of heroic knights vanquishing their foes, but the wanderer who inspired good in the man he saved; the man who's thirst he sated, and would live on to tell his children of his savior. The story of the great scholar who uplifted his civilization to new heights on his great inventions; defying the imaginations of all who lived in his time. The story of the gardener, who brought great swathes of green and life to what was once sandy dunes. The empire to be inherited; founded on exchange, mutual gain and goodwill between sovereign and lord; not simply the threat of force and violence.

But I was reminded, even then, that it was a dying world. A waning in ash and decline from which no one seemed to have an answer to.

Then I heard it. The prophecy of Ephia's Well. The promise of salvation, life and renewal in a world dying of thirst. My road had a horizon; leading back to where it all started in those sandy dunes. Somehow in full circle. I said my goodbyes, thanked Arnib for all he had done for me. Before leaving, I also made a promise. One that seemed to abate any lingering fear in his eyes, just before I turned to leave. I promised I would not throw away my life; that I would not so easily surrender this gift. That wherever I went, I would see it given meaning and fullest use before I finally went to rest with her. I promised I'd endure, no matter how much it hurt; that the nights with the razor were a thing of the past.

I never stopped weeping for her. Every morning, every evening, I still remember who I lost. And why I continue to breath, for her.

So I returned to Ephia's Well. Nine years after I left. I would find it had changed, in more ways than one. I'd find it'd become a farcry from the flooded ruin it was before. A proper, thriving settlement that utterly eclipsed any society to be found in the Old City my people had escaped from. I would come to meet familiar faces, as well as many new ones. Find sooth and balm in the tender words of my closest friends and priests, every time that gnawing doubt and fear of it all being a lie, again, would creep. Taste once more an idea of what the world could become. But most importantly, I would learn truth to the rumors. The prophecy and its promise; of a pilgrim and his chalice. With Ephia's Well being center to what seemed like a great destiny waiting to be fulfilled. The promise of life; and a world beginning anew, again.

It was a quiet night when I first arrived; looking down at it all from that great plateau. I will never forget how beautiful the stars were.

Or the tears I wept, wishing she was there to see them with me.

*A folded poem at the bottom of the page.*

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By chisel and hammer; home made of stone.

In is your hearth; your family yet known.

Outside's the green; you always knew there.

Beyond is the sea; freedom in air.

Soft is the sky; gentle the clouds.

Night's blissful splendor; stars without shrouds.

Kind is your neighbor;  sweet is your dove.

A world just for you; a mother's love.

Every last labor; every last breath.

All for your after; until at last, death.

For you, this dream; forever I'll tend.

One last embrace; after the end.

Slumber in peace; free of pain and peril.

Forever in heart; my sweet baby Meryl.

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[Empress of Neon]

~The Garden~

I remember,

When I first arrived. With meager bearings. Eyes and ears looking, hearing and judging. Measuring this place that had promised life anew for the one I treasured most. I was little more than a refugee to them, though in truth I was simply a wanderer returning after a long journey of soul searching and reflection; growth and renewal. My earliest days in Ephia's Well were full of kind strangers and hopeful youths. There was a sense of peace, calm and even serenity in spite of the ash storms washing outside the Shade.

I met many new people; many who'm I still cherish as friends. A new family, even, in a sense. I'd found a place to weep for my child as I prayed for her, in The Mother's temple. I found new ideas and visions for the future among the many politicians and idealists who dreamed of a better world. And of course I found him again; as it seemed fated for us to always be.

Ellanher De Veend.

He had changed as well since I left. He'd become a man of the cloth; of The Wroth. It seemed appropriate. His whole life had been dictated by his thirst for revenge; for justice. Who better to preach and honor such in this new world? He admitted such to me, that he found some kind of comfort. Meaning again, in his life, after the one we failed to share together. I was so guilty when he first spoke; I could scarcely believe it was him. Part of me had hoped he had moved on; found another woman. Forgotten about me. But still he was there; his heart ever to mine. The love of my life; and beyond.

All the same, we had bitter words, that night he found me. Cruel words of blame swung over our daughter. He blamed Harold, for failing to raise her. Our people, for who'm she died. I told him it was him, but also me. It was us who drove her away. I told him how much she hated him; words no father should ever have to hear. It all broke down into tears. Why wouldn't  it? We were shambles of the people we were; with seemingly no way forward between us. I don't think Ellan was ready to hear the words from my lips, though. After I just walked out and never came back; not even leaving so much as a note. After the question lingered in the air. After I grabbed his hand once more as he began to leave. Just as I did so long ago when we were young. Those simple words that came from the heart.

"I still love you. I never stopped."

And it was true. Ellan brought me pain, even more so as my heart yearned for him. His eyes, his very life a reminder to the shades of our past. And yet, I still loved him. He was the father of my daughter; the avenger of my family; the boy who gave me a flower in that market, all those many years ago. All along that journey, there were nights when I was overcome with grief. Wishing and hoping he'd have a happier life with me gone. Deluding to fantasies of him, a new lady and the family he'd always deserved. But some things never change. And our love, for better or worse, is among them.

Forever mine. Forever his.

We were reunited. And there was a renewed sense of invigoration, even as my knees would continue to buck from grief, from time to time, going forward. Intrigues and politics became a necessary evil, as we tried to steer Ephia's Well away from blood and ruin. To keep her safe from the viles within. My years in trade going hand in hand with my grooming for speechcraft. His strength, his cunning and his drive, as ever, a force of nature in the backdrop of it all. We were together again; this time to tend to the world. To him, making it just and safe. To me, making it kinder, precious and stable. However it looked, it was the unspoken horizon we shared.

A better world than the one we left behind.

Everything else after that; from the Wyrmcult to present day; is history. We have been defeated many times in both politics and public opinion. Made plenty of mistakes in our efforts to see Ephia's Well free from that ever-looming specter of annihilation that claimed our home. The Decline; my greatest foe; always to bear its head with razor teeth. Still we try, even to this day as great upheaval and uncertainty drown the air, to keep it all from falling apart. Between the intrigues of the assembly to the armies that probe our gates. To the betrayers within and without, looking to end the world's last hope out of spite or greedthirst. Even with every defeat shadowed by the smaller victories, still we struggle. Still we fight.

"Protect life. Tend the garden."

Nothing more is left, or so simple an idea. Not to give all our suffering meaning. Not for vanity. Not for gain or a sense of right. Not even because The Mother or Wroth bade it. All of it, and what came after, was done so for one reason and one reason alone.

The only reason yet to draw breath.

*A folded poem at the bottom of the page.*

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Sun ever pulsing; thirst without end.

Winds ever screaming; razor, they rend.

Long is the road; steps go unpaved.

Scorched is the soles; sands, they engraved.

Small the oasis; just within sight.

Keep on going; with all of your might.

Drink and live; see yourself mend.

Live and drink; this garden you tend.

You made it at last; surviving that hell.

Build something greater; in Ephia's Well.

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[Empress of Neon]

~The Promise~

I'll never forget,

Why I came to Ephia's Well. The promise I made. Not for any who drew breath, but for her. And all the other loved ones of my life I had lost. I promised I would keep going; live. That I would dedicate every final breath and labor of my life to leaving something more precious for them, when it was their time to live again. To awaken.

Power? Wealth? Influence? These things mean nothing to me. They were only ever a means to an end for me in Ephia's Well. Whether that was in politics, trade or otherwise. Why would I care if my name was sung for a thousand years? Or if I lived in lavish terraces? Why would any of that matter in a world where I had lost the only thing that really mattered to me in life?

I lost my daughter ten years ago. She was a beautiful, radiant soul in a dark, cruel world. She gave her life so that others could live. Just as her father did. For no other reason than the gold in her heart. She lived bright and brought a light into my life that I will never know again. A light that is now gone forever with that inescapable truth.

She is gone, and I will never see her again in this life.

But Ephia's Well has something even Baz'eel does not; it has a promise, nooked in its own heart. Not just simply to its people, but the entire world. A prophecy to be fulfilled; from it, a new world's rebirth in a splendor of life that will make the realm green and good again. A world she can awaken to, not in struggle, but mirth. A sun that does not pulsate cruelly, but kisses in gentle greeting every dawn. A world where kindness and kinship made the phantoms of wars between men in past ages just those; phantoms. A world that explored the possibilities of what could be, rather than what must. A world waiting to be given breath and life.

A world for her. The garden that became.

It is all that is left for me. Everything I've ever done and will continue to do. All of it to that one simple dictate to see this promise kept. Whether it's empowering others to see the prophecy to its end or seeing wrath befall those who threaten it. I believe with all my heart that the Cup will be found. That the Pilgrim will fulfill what was fated and save this dying world. That life; in a better world; will flow again, and with it, her next.

But before all that, it befalls us to tend to the garden. To keep it safe and hale for his arrival.

Even as we strive to lay the foundations, before a just world or kind world, we need to see to one simple need before all others.

*The last page with a simple message.*

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Ephia's Well must survive.

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[Empress of Neon]

*An envelope tucked behind the last page.*

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Never forget the opportunity you have in this life. To make something better; more beautiful for those yet to be. Someday you will die. Someday you to will awaken. And all that will remain for you and those you loved is what you left behind.

I hope you learn from our mistakes. Complacency. Apathy. Despair. Greed. All of these terrible woes that made our lives a living hell in the City of Rings. Woes I hope fade away forever with the last of us who survived those dark times.

More importantly, I hope you see the same hope for the future that pulled me from my shadows. Even if at times, it all seems for naught. When the sun is at its cruelest; when life seems to have become so unbearable. Keep going; even if it hurts. You still have hands to tend the garden, with every breath. Whether it's for yourself or another after, never yield what's still yours to hold.

Never give up.

~ Isabella Mathair Meryl

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