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

[Empress of Neon]

*Within the chambers of Isabella Fitzgerald, a family portrait rests with a familiar monogram.*

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*And a simple placard hanging from its easel.*

"Some memories are worth keeping. "

"No matter how much they hurt to grasp."

"I'll hold you again someday."

"After my breath's final gasp."

~With Love, Mom

*Behind the painting is a tucked journal; its pages ripe with stories, poems and no small number of tear stains. The first page reading simply...*

My name is Isabella Fitzgerald. Wife to Harold Fitzgerald. Mother to Meryl Fitzgerald. Betrothed of Ellanher de Veend. Last living survivor of what was once House Highcliff. I have lived many lives in the world; more than anyone like me has the right to. Lifetimes that I will share. Nevermind my status in Ephia's Well. That means nothing to me; it's only ever been a means to an end. An end I'll reveal when the story's done being told.

What I write upon these pages is both a confession and letter of love to the ghosts of those I cherished most in my life. As well as those who yet remain. It is a parting thread of remembrance to those the world has and will soon forget. It is also a warning, for those who would take heed to avoid the mistakes of the past.

Perhaps no one will ever read this. Perhaps this is just another grave-marker tucked away between the pages of this journal. Perhaps I'm just trying to give it all meaning when there was never any to be had. Or perhaps I feel I'm nearing the end of my life and want nothing unsaid before I go to rest with them. Whatever it is, it is our story. And I won't let my grief keep me from chronicling it any longer. Sometimes, memories are all we have.

And those we loved should never be forgotten.

~Thank you, Edha, for inspiring me. I hope Petro may read this to you someday.

[Empress of Neon]

~Hearth and Blood~

I remember,

When life was novel and my stature small. I was a child. Youngest and only daughter of a lesser house in the Old City. In the Steadings, we lived, with a single plot of land from which to grow our bounty of apples and crisp sweet succor. Our home was humble; no great mansion like those to be found in the walls just over. It was from there, in the Peerage Ward, the Greater Houses ruled in the King's stead. Our sole prize a simple little distillery in our shed, from which to make apple cider. And the companionship of those neighbors; lesser or higher in station; to call friends.

That was our motto. Hearth and blood.  Home and family. Realm and kin. And it is something I never really shook off completely from my life. Nor would I; for was there ever anything greater to struggle for? To fight for? To die for? Such questions did not harass me when I was a child, though. My concerns back then were no greater than how I might bring a smile to my mother's face. A head patting from my father, after a long day of chores. A hug from my brothers, in hopes I maintained their love.

My father, Alvaro, and Alastair, my eldest brother, would often take to the fields when a looming tribe of monsters or beasts encroached. Joining with the other forces of the Ward in hunting parties or even the occasional warband. On the kinder days they would hunt and bring home game.  Father could be stern, but Alastair always seemed to go out of his way to spoil me. They were the 'no-nonsense' pair that always seemed to be out engaged in some manner of business. How often it demanded their swords was a matter far and beyond my little head at the time.

My other brothers, Fredrick and Julio, younger as they were, would often get into any numbers of shenanigans together. From japes with rivals to scandalous flirtations with women who were very much spoken for. To drunken vandalism of crops and scarecrows, to unbearable sadism from the strings of their violins. They were both treasures, and never once denied me their shoulders to ride upon. Or to cry on, if I injured myself in our orchard as I was apt to do when climbing trees.

My mother, Briana, and grandmother, Amelia, were two of a kind. The picture 'ladies' of the Peerage Ward, in spite of their meager fortunes and humble appearance. Traditional, refined, rich in etiquette and absolute hostesses to both friends and enemies when they entreated guests. They taught me the importance of courtesy and manner, even to those who may not deserve it. They taught me the value of dignity and what it means not just to behave, but act the part of a woman who claims nobility.  Words without deeds are meaningless; a lesson the Peerage Ward, in its entirety, took to heart in one shape or another.

They were my family. And I loved them dearly.  A part of who I am will always be a conception of  the life I shared with them. For every winter we huddled and weathered, to every rain-drenching summer we spent living life well with what few means we had. We were  lower among our Peers, but I was happy. Happy because they were there; making life seem to make so much sense in its reason for simply being. In a world where so many others were always seemingly trying to escape. I was happy just to have them at all.

My fondest memory of those days was not with them, however.  And it did not take long for that sense of 'family' to expand beyond my own blood. I was but a child, as he, the day we met. But even then, I think I knew, just as he, the moment my eyes laid upon him who he was. An instinct that went beyond words.

I speak of Ellanher De Veend.

And someday, he would be the love of my life.

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

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Autmn woods, in fullest splendor.

Leafs curl in the wind.

A mother's voice, full of tender.

Back to hearth and kin.

Stars creep with clouds beneath, the sun yields to the night.

A dine before the hearth we lit.

Never dim the lights.

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[Empress of Neon]

~The Boy with The Flower~

I remember,

That day when I saw him. I was out fetching seeds and flowers from the florist. She made her trade in the Ward's market, just past the gates, in Oakrest. Her and every other farmer, blacksmith, hunter and peddler who'd come every day to see the barest needs met. It always made me feel so safe to be there, with so many guards about. Even if it was usually somber, there were days when you'd find the children of the Burgage in play. That day, I had someone approach me with a very different kind of game in mind, just as I was about to leave.

He approached me, jogging with a blushwhorl in hand; calling out to gain my attention. I knew in an instant he was of a lower station, from his wear, but that didn't stop the little girl I was from finding companions in other  youths. I was confused, though, that he had been able to afford such a flower that I was unable to afford after  checking my mother's list. It was only a glance over his shoulder later at a rather confused florist searching for her missing stock that I realized he'd plucked it.

I should've been mortified at the theft, but when he presented it to me, telling me he had gotten it "... for you, milady.", I had a very different reaction. I was taken aback, at a loss for words, and suddenly feeling very warm at my cheeks. I think he mistook my silence for something else though; moving to praise my hair after he seemed to take a moment to consider how to move the conversation along. I thanked him, asked him for his name. He seemed happy that I simply wanted to know at all. Before I left the market, I asked him if he would like to come pick apples with me after lunch. I'll cherish the expression I saw on that boy's face for life. Both before my leave, and after his arrival to my family's orchard.

That's honestly how it all started. It was just play and tender hearts at first. But rather than being shrugged off as we became older, it only seemed to grow with us. That bond we shared. My life was really never the same; not after he became the core of it. Even more so, I dare say, than my own family. For as I blossomed into a young woman, so to did my fantasies and hopes that someday, this man who I held so dear and near to my heart, might one day hold my own in a ceremony of matrimony.

My family, perhaps softened at how young an age we met, did not shun or suspect him either. In fact, he seemed to grow quite a bit on my brothers and father. So much so that there was a point where my father was  seriously considering taking Ellan on as a retainer. It helped, I think, that Ellan came from a family of martials and had a genuine appreciation for life by the sword. I'll never forget Alastair's expression when he kicked up his shield in a friendly spar and pommeled him onto his back with the bunt of his sword's handle.

Those seasons of our life together could fill a book in themselves. But the moments I cherished most were the ones where his heart shined brightest. I smile in remembrance of the young man who'd bid his attempt at poetry, in spite of his lack of experience, just to see me smile. The young man who'd walk in moonlit strolls with his arm wrapped around me; making me feel at ease even when beasts prowled. The young man who'd always give me a tickle when I least expected it, only to hear me laugh. They were our rosiest seasons together. Memories I wouldn't trade for all the fortunes in the world.

We were innocent, back then. Full of hope what could be and what already was. Even as the world around us was in decline, it all seemed bearable. Hearth and Blood; Ellan had become a part of that special place. So much so, it seemed our future together was all but certain. We dreamed of a life together, one that seemed primed for a new chapter as we became of age.

But that was not the world we lived in.

And what would come next would change our lives forever.

For both of us.

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

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A moon that smiles on all below.

Stars shimmer in the night.

A beast, that prowls, slinks to a hole.

Before his steel's bright.

A howling bids; return to hearth.

Birds tremble and take flight.

But free, am I, to walk our home.

Thanks to my loving knight.

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[Empress of Neon]

*There are a few tear stains upon these pages...*

~A Dream Ends~

I remember,

It was late in the night when it happened. We were all trying to sleep when there was a sudden banging on the door downstairs. I remember thinking a stray bear had dared to scratch our home's door again. It was, alas, something far more dangerous than any beast.

Outside was a mob. It was comprised of folk mainly from the Burgage, as well as a few offshoots from the Steadings. There were nooses, pitchforks, torches and blades from what was indistinguishably retainers from the Peerage. From smaller houses, but no less alarming when such a host is present. I watched helplessly from the window as my brothers and father, alarmed, began to arm themselves. Mother shouted it was people, but it was father who cursed aloud a response that told me everything I needed to know what was happening.

"Rivarri".

If we ever had enemies, if we ever had rivals, it was the Rivarri in the Burgage. A lesser house just as we. In any other world, we might've called them friends for how much we had in common. Everything from politics to faith. There was, unfortunately, an auld grievance long kept between us. To my shame, my grandfather killed one of their own in a duel; despite her yielding. It was an event that'd made them bitter enemies towards us before I was even born. That night, it was the sin that would bring an end to House Highcliff.

I wouldn't learn the details until much later just how and  why it all happened. But the Rivarri had, in essence, managed to fabricate evidence that harkened my family  to being changeling conspirators; a death sentence in those times. More than that, they did what any good politicians did and stir crowd to action before reason. They'd been preparing this narrative for months, if not years, behind the scenes in the Ward. The many allies they'd brought left no question they'd been making many friends for this occasion.

My father, Alastair and Fredrick went out to confront the crowd; they wouldn't hear of my mother's protests. Julio left with us, as father bade in an unspoken concession. Whatever argument or show father attempted to put on didn't last long. The sound of clashing and fighting very quickly erupted, even as we only made it a few yards free from our home. I started to weep, as I recognized the voices of those crying out in pain. My brothers, and my father, were dying. And I couldn't do anything to save them.

The crowd must've noticed us, because more than a few started to chase us. They chased us all the way into the Weald, that vast open forestland where no man truly ruled above the laws of the beasts. My brother Julio saw before me or my mother that we weren't going to outrun them. He stopped. Told us to go. And ran to meet our pursuers.

Something happened in that moment, as my youngest brother fought to the death against men who only saw a traitor to the King. She paused, still clutching my wrist. I was too wracked crying out for Julio to come back to appreciate what was going through her head at the time. Or the tears she was weeping, seeing her son taking wounds from farm tools, before a retainer's axe found his chest.

I know all too well today what was going on in her mind. Seeing her family die. The child she bore into this world who she had held, raised and loved being taken from her. Her boy, who was so young and had so much life ahead of him.  I know that night she might've very well have chosen to die with her son. Instead, she looked at me. And she made a choice.

To keep going, if only for me.

My mother was a strong woman, but she sobbed that night with me, even as she pulled me again. We both wept for those we lost behind. We would for days long after we escaped.

We could have hid in the Ponds, among the many vagrants and hermits that called that strange park just besides the Weald 'home'. Instead, we fled through there to Ticker Square. The den of our 'sworn enemies'. The 'Merchant Rebellion' that had arisen up against the rightful rule of the nobility and the Peers.

The tale of Ticker Square and its history with the Peerage Ward could fill entire volumes. Back then? To me? It was a degrading, best-of-a-bad-situation alternative that my mother had wrenched me to. One only made possible because mother never fully severed ties with a few merchants there. I strongly suspect the Webbers were among them. I did not appreciate what was being done for us. If I could go back, I would thank those people for all they did for me and mother. I might not be alive today if not for them.

I'm not entirely sure if my mother survived the ordeal, however. She was never quite the same. Aloof, distant; almost like someone pretending at life. Even then, I understood why. We had lost our home. Our family. Our world. I'd often hold her, and beg her not to leave me.

I am blessed to have had such a mother.

We went into hiding, for a time, and kept a low profile long after. My mother wrote to the Great Houses for help, for justice, but no response ever came, except for one. Begging us not to return to the Ward, or they would be forced to make an 'unfortunate choice'. That's when she knew it was over; as well as I.

That's when our lives in the Peerage Ward truly came to an end. It was a common tale for the lesser houses, who were always so perilously vulnerable to that kind of annihilation. It's why there was so much competition and clawing for prestige, power and influence. We never truly lived in a society of laws or order. Only tradition and managed anarchy. I'd come to appreciate having the former later in life, in Ephia's Well. But back then? This was normal.

This was our world.

My mother and I began life anew in Ticker Square; with what pieces remained of our own. It was a slow transition, this change in lifestyle. But in time, I came to accept and even appreciate a few things after living my life in Ticker Square. I came to see that human-supremacy was a myth, even a silly thing conceived to stoke pride. I came to appreciate a modicum of freedom in spiritual matters, and not having to fear missing Communion. Later in life, I'd come to appreciate it as the home to something far more precious.

But me and mother were not the only ones who suffered from the Rivarri's treachery.

I had thought, as was all too common when people inconvenienced others with their 'unjust demise' in the Peerage Ward, that Ellanher De Veend would move on. Our House was gone; and everyone else, sooner than later,  would forget there even was a Highcliff at all. As was the norm when any lesser house fallen; noble or otherwise.  People accepted it and maintained the status quo, rather than take on a grudge beyond their own family and risk further discord or loss of life. That's just how it was.

Not for Ellan.

When he had heard what had happened to our family, something changed in him. Something so powerful and primal that the loving young man I knew; the boy my family cherished; would soon find himself wearing the livry of the most despised, loathsome and powerful House in the Peerage Ward. If only as a means to an end. Ellan became a retainer to House Orza. And for the rest of his life, he would be a man of wroth; ruthlessly and patiently pursuing  vengeance. Starting with the entirety of House Rivarri, who he had thought killed me with the rest of my family.

I would see Ellan again, someday, after a contact of his in Ticker Square caught sight of me and my 'famous mane'.  When I did see him? The joy I felt in my heart simply escapes the justice of any words. He had not forgotten me. He had, in fact, been living and acting to my memory. My family's. When the rest of the world forgot, he remembered. He never stopped loving me. Nor I, in truth, him. It was just another agony I endured thinking he'd moved on; taken another to his loving arms while I sulked forgotten and unwanted. He was always my soulmate. Even after 'my death'. And I never felt stronger for him in all my life.

But something happened in-between our time apart. Something that made our reunion as sinful as it was beautiful.

I was married.

To Harold Fitzgerald.

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

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Winter's borne.

Empty, our chairs.

Winter's scorn.

Gone, our heirs.

Spring dew weeps.

As we, for suns.

Earth now keeps.

A father; his sons.

Hearth without kin; hearth without ember.

You are loved.

You are remembered.

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[Empress of Neon]

*There are quite a few tear stains upon these pages...*

~A Heart for Two~

I remember,

First meeting him at the Open Door. An establishment that was both a gatehouse and an inn, not so differently from the Krak de Roses. Even back then, he was a hale and hearty man. I was serving drinks when he seemed to notice me. There was something so overwhelmingly friendly and cheerful about his demeanor that I didn't even feel discomfort; whereas plenty of other patrons had gone out of their way to, in polite terms 'act very less like gentlemen' than they should have. Admittedly a few ladies as well.

Not Harold. He inquired who I was, when I started working there, how I was liking Ticker Square, and so on. Everything felt so natural, when we became friends. And much like Ellan, I felt strangely safe around him. Perhaps it was the Stonebuilder's uniform; the masoners and hired-guards of the Square. Perhaps it was just how wholesome a man he was. Perhaps it was those 'looks' he gave to others who started to tease me about my heritage in the Peerage. Harold wouldn't have any of it; or the unwelcomed displays I'd endured prior. Very quickly, in a place that felt so alien and estranged to my simply being there, he made me feel at home and even welcomed.

Our friendship blossomed quickly. And soon, I found myself spending more and more time around him by choice after the day's labors were over. He'd helped me get over my caution and even fear of exploring Ticker Square. He introduced me around to some places I didn't even realize were there. Much of it was alleys, after all. In many ways, he made me a better person. He'd go out of his way to show me the success stories in Ticker Square that directly contradicted the Peerage Ward's narrative on human-supremacy. He made me more sympathetic to some of the injustices non-humans suffered. He also showed me how to appreciate the little things; not simply being content with them. Pugilist games, street performances and small-folk revelries I never really got the chance to partake in the Steadings. Things were different, but not always  for the worse.

I remember my mother asking at one point if I was taken with the man; the way I'd smile and even laugh around him when he waged his rather delightful humor making her curious. I shared that curiosity; not truly knowing the answer. It'd be some time since that night, and I was convinced by the silence that Ellan had moved on. Part of me it even hoped it; because the alternative to his silence was something I didn't even want to think about. It worried me. Haunted me. The 'what-ifs'. But Harold was always there to comfort me. Always offering the bright side of things, even when I told him I was worried about a 'friend' having tried to avenge me and my family back in the Ward. Insisting that I'd probably see them again someday, soon. I think it was around this time I realized something about the way I felt towards Harold. The fact I even danced around the nature of my relationship with this 'mysterious friend' told me I was, perhaps, afraid I'd lose his interest in me. An interest that was becoming increasingly more profound with every gesture and eve we spent together.

Finally, the day came. After he made dinner for mother and me, not more than a few nights after I met his own. I found a ring in my meatloaf just hanging out in the open. The sight made my mother, who'd been so morose and distant for so long, go wide-eyed at what was on display.  I'll never forget what he said, after I asked if it was what I thought it was; planting his palms down on the table like a chef smiling at what was clearly a bogus return-dish.

"Well, look at that. Looks like we got ourselves a Ringloaf."

He then got serious, and on his knees; gentle-eyed as ever.  He betrayed that he'd gotten the ring not more than a few dozen suns after we'd first met. He told me that the last few months we'd been spending together were some of the happiest days in his life. He confessed that he wanted to continue making happy memories with me for the rest of his life, with me. And that his own mother swore to kick his ass if he didn't ask.

I don't think Harold was necessarily jesting on that last claim. Ysold was quite the character.

But I do remember the look on his face, when I offered my hand, and the finger it was made for, for him to adorn. We wedded in earnest a few months later. And that was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives; one we'd share together.  I'm old enough now to know I made a rash decision. A mistake when I took Harold as my husband. I was so convinced Ellan was gone from my life and so desperate to feel happiness again, that I chained myself to the one who'd given so much to me.

But then Ellan found me.

Not more than a winter later.  I'll never forget the joy we had in knowing the other was simply alive, or how my heart fluttered when he told me the truth behind his Orzan uniform. There was something unmistakably romantic about it all and even noble in its sentiment towards justice. I confess, I melted in his arms when his lips found their mark. But very shortly after, there was anger. There were tears. There was even bitterness, when I told him about me and Harold. Ellan might've very well have left me forever if I didn't grab his hand and remind him I loved him. Ring or no ring, I still loved him. I begged him not to leave me. I begged him to stay.

He did more than just stay that day.

I take no pride in admitting I'd become an adulterer. My affair with Ellan, even if it was of the heart, was wrong. And I made it doubly so by not telling Harold the truth of what was happening behind his back. To this day, I still feel guilt over it. Harold was my husband, my best friend and one of the greatest men I've ever known in my entire life. I loved him, dearly so. But I need to acknowledge that while I loved Harold, I was in love with Ellan long before we had ever met. I know now I was chasing something I thought lost; rather than finding a substitute, I found a whole new world in him I'd come to cherish just as the last. I should've broken it off with Harold. Told him the truth. Accept my shame, disgrace and accept I no longer had a right to his heart. Instead, I feared. I feared losing both of them. There was also a part of me, I think, that simply didn't want to hurt Harold. In the years to come, that particular sensation blossomed a thousandfold, the more and more I came to see just what a beautiful soul he truly was.

Those seasons I spent in sin, loving another man and deceiving the other, are my most shameful.  But I will not lie and claim I regret them. Because the story that was our lives was about to change.

Significantly.

It was a grey, cloudy day when I approached Harold at the construction site. He told me the dust from the stone wasn't good to breath in, and asked what was wrong. Why I was wearing my bed robe and out in the streets.

I just couldn't wait to tell him what my mother told me.

*A folded, tear-stained poem.*

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Heart full of wanting.

Heart full of sin.

Frown, do the ghosts

Ancestral and kin.

Passion and mirth.

Torn between two.

In all that wild.

Blessed with you.

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[Empress of Neon]

*There is only a single sentence on this entire page, tear-stained page.*

"I am with child."

[Empress of Neon]

*From this point on, the pages in the journal are crisp from tears.*

~Dawn~

I remember,

Feeling so many different things when my mother told me the truth. Why I'd seem to have fallen ill.  Fear, joy, hope and more.  I don't think any one word can quite describe the  feeling I had growing inside when it all began to sank in. I was going to be a mother. And from that very morning on, my life was no longer just about myself, or Ellan, or Harold, or anyone else. Everything we'd endured seem to shirk like a shadow from the light in face of that future to come.

I was going to be a mother.

It was a privilege, in some ways. Women in the Peerage Ward; especially those of noble status; very often had to endure arranged marriages rather than pursuing dalliances of the heart. We were expected to bear heirs and knit families in blood and politics; love was not really part of the discussion. I do, in fact, think it's why it was so heavily discouraged and even taboo for men and women to have eyes for others of their ilk.  This was not the case for me. She came from a place of passion. Love. She came from life; not the world.

Maybe that's why she ended up being so beautiful.

We never had a Queen in the Old City, as far as I know, but Ellan and Harold certainly treated me as such. Harold would come give me shoulder and foot rubs after his long day at work practically every night. He'd also go out of his way to cave in a wall in our apartment just to add an extension. I'm not sure that was safe or sanctioned, but no one seemed to make too much of a fuss besides a grumpy neighbor. It made for an excellent nursery, in the end. My mother and mother-in law would also be attentive; from beginning to end. I would still catch mother weeping in solitude sometimes, but for the first time since that night in the Steadings, she seemed genuinely happy and even hopeful in moments of banter concerning her granddaughter-to-be. I remember fondly how often she and Ysold would have their 'old lady' spats on how an unborn child should even be raised. I'll admit, even then, I found it adorable watching their 'logics' pan out in debate. Ellan would keep bringing me little gifts; so convinced she was his; ranging from dolls to cradles. Never seeming satisfied with the quality of the last one he brought.

He'd also open up more to me about what he was doing at this point in his life. Regailing me with tales of how he was making the Rivarri suffer. He was very patient; more than you'd expect from a man so full of wroth. He'd taunt, jape and commit smaller grievances to goad the Rivarri into making disastrous mistakes in moments of passion that put them directly into conflict they couldn't win. Taking their own practice of fabricating cassus belli and turning it against them. You'd think Ellan would have been reprimanded, being a retainer to a noble lord, but House Orza was different. Its lords encouraged and even took delight in watching its retainers being as belligerent as they could be. The House itself, after all, was founded on might; not pedigree. They reveled in displaying dominance. You'd be shocked and horrified at just how many people died at the hands of Orza, only to have their friends and families shy back and take it. That's just how dread they actually were. And Ellan exploited that to the absolute fullest. I confess, at the risk of sounding vile, that I took great joy in hearing how Ellan reaped justice for my family back then. It made the world seem a little more just; going in the right direction, rather than falling into a pit like it had prior. Then the day came. The day where she came into our lives.

My sweet baby girl, Meryl.

I knew an instant she was Ellan's. He always had a very distinctively icy-blue hue to his eyes. She had that to; a legacy of the Vestige. And in that instant, my mother immediately realized what'd been going on; the look she gave me was one of concern, though, not anger. I still feel awful deceiving Harold when I commented on how she'd taken my grandfather's eyes. But he didn't question it a second longer after I excused a trait no one else seemed to have in the room. Especially when she started to pull on some of his hair. I'll always cherish that smile he had on his face when she did. Nor will I forget the scorn his mother gave me when his back was turned to hold her up in better lighting. I think she knew, and saw something 'missing' in her supposed granddaughter that I wasn't picking up. If she did know, she chose to remain silent; both in those chambers and beyond. She seemed to grow merry, though, when her son gave her over to hold; then gave her the softest of nuzzles after Meryl started to gnaw on her braid. If Ysold had any reservations or ill feelings towards me after that day, they certainly didn't reflect in the way she'd treat Meryl. Not in the slightest.

I remember fondly resting in those chambers. Day and night, for a few blissful cycles. Just being able to bond with her as I recovered. Seeing nothing but love and wonder in her eyes. Curiosity for the world around her. The joy in her smile every time we'd play; even if that was something as simple grabbing my pinky and getting a reaction with every tug. I was bed-ridden for awhile, but it helped to have such attentive family. Mother especially was all too happy to help clean and feed. I asked one day if she thought less of me, after confessing who the father was. It was as diplomatic as it was sincere, even if it dodged the question.

"I'm happy to hear he's alive."

Ellan had his chance to see her, eventually. When he did, it was the happiest I'd ever seen him. He was so proud, and perhaps a little relieved, when he saw his reflection in her. It was one of the few times you'd ever see him tender around someone other than me. He'd tickle, he'd play, he'd even try to get her to start picking up speech just a little too soon in life. I'd snerk  when Meryl would just look at him like he was an utter weirdo. There was such hope in his eyes. I recognized it all too well. I thought those same questions.

"What kind of person are you going to become?"

"What can I do to give you a happy life, my sweet daughter?"

"Who do you take more after, your dad or me?"

Harold was even more involved. He was utterly obsessed with her future and well-being to the point he began to work overtime. From dawn to midnight. But he'd always go out of his way to get up just a little extra early to make sure we were fed and tended; always make sure to take every chance he could to amuse or play with his baby girl. That's just the kind of man he was. Always putting everyone else, especially his family, before himself. I only became more and more fond of Harold over the years when I saw just how dedicated a man he was to family and realm. I don't think, in the entirety of our marriage, he once even raised his voice in anxiety to me. Or Meryl, for that matter.

She had two fathers in her life. Even back then.

Ellan, the one unseen. Her sire; her origin. He wasn't merely going after the Rivarri for the sake of vengeance or justice anymore. He had a daughter to protect; one they'd grievance for simply being mine. I think it was his love for Meryl that drove him to be especially ruthless; absolute and unforgiving. It showed in his stories, he'd continue to share. And then it reflected in his livry one day. The day he became a Knife. I should have been disappointed; even angry at the kind of person he'd become. The things you did to become a Knife in House Orza would be anything but tolerated in the Sultanate of today. But how could I scorn him? I knew where it all came from. A father's love; wroth and terrible when predators show their fangs at his offspring. A lover's fury; over the life taken away from him by those he stains red.

Harold, the one known. The man who'd raise her; mould her. The man who'd teach her how to be happy with so little.  Her role-model, her pride and her living mountain of cushion to kick up and relax on in those quieter evenings when all three of us would retiree to the family chair by the fireplace. It was as cozy as it sounds. And just as beautiful as you'd imagine, having her lay in our laps as we warmed by the fire and simply savored life. Even back then, when she was a babe, we'd still find those moments. Those precious moments when the world seems so small and there's not a care in the world to hound your thoughts. Not a one; just living.

Truly living.

But I was dreaming, thinking it could be like this forever. And like all dreams, it eventually had to come to an end. That day arrived when I heard Meryl speak her first word, young as she was. I was reminded, painfully rather than joyfully, she'd be speaking in sentences soon. Sentences about mother and the strange man that came to visit and play with her whenever dad was away at work. A child's innocence that forced me to make a choice. Between the love of my life and her world.

"Shithead", Ellan. You taught our baby girl how to say 'shithead'.

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

[hide]

Dawn rises softly.

Light's touch through paned glass.

Mists witness gently.

Hearth's treasure; it has.

Kind is the heartbeat.

Steady and calm.

The one shared between.

A babe; its mom.

Closed, stay the eyes.

As cheek finds the head.

No reason to rise.

Ever, from bed.

Kissed by the shine.

Tender in grace.

A babe; its mom.

Loving embrace.

[/hide]

[Empress of Neon]

~Golden Breaths~

I remember,

Just how painful it was. The day I told Ellan he couldn't see her anymore. I could see it in his eyes, all over again. A sense of pain, betrayal. But it wasn't about him, or me, or even Harold. Not anymore. It was about her, and the world she was to live. The Peerage wasn't safe. For me, or her. And whether Ellan wanted to admit it or not, Harold kept us safe in Ticker Square. Very few people gave any trouble to a Stonebuilder's family, back then. It'd be the equivalent of harassing a legionnaire's wife and daughter. Ellan didn't like my reasoning, but eventually, he had to cave to the reality. We simply couldn't go back home.

Not yet.

Ellan had to stop visiting me. Worse, he couldn't be a part of Meryl's life anymore. The risk was just too great of Harold discovering us, and I wouldn't rob my daughter a future of a kinder life by fleeing Ticker Square. It was stable, it was able to provide and most importantly, it was a relatively safe place in the Old City. Even if we wanted to be together, we couldn't take that from her. She deserved better. Even though our 'affair' was suppose to be over, Ellan would still come visit for me though, every so often. In  all honesty, I just found myself more pulled to him than ever.

How could I not? For all he'd endure for his family?

Mother passed on not shortly after. I found her sitting in a chair one day. Looking so very peaceful, thinking she was asleep. But when I went to stir her for dinner, I found she'd no longer drawn any breath. I still don't know to this day what happened. Maybe it was her age or grief-ridden heart finally giving in to rest. Whatever the case, my mother was gone. Off to rest with my father and brothers. It was painful. She'd endured a lot to see me through and stayed as long as life allowed. I took a little comfort, even back then, that she seemed to find some moments of happiness near the end; especially with Meryl. I think, to her, a granddaughter  simply existing at all was a sign that she'd seen the family had a future. Even if it was under a different name. I mourned her deeply for a time, but I was yet blessed.

Harold was there to comfort me.

Both through my mother's death and every hardship after. Him and his mother both, who seemed to treat me with a much more gentle demeanor following mother's death. I know she was still cross with what I did, but she was always a good woman at heart. You could see it, in the way she treated others. I was blessed to have her to. Even though my heart would always yearn for Ellan, it was the years to come that'd open my eyes to see what true treasures I had in home, hearth and family. Despite all I had lost. The years that would come would be some of the happiest of my life.

I wouldn't trade the memories of them for all the fortunes and power in the world.

There's too many little stories to tell. This grace period in our lives where we could actually live; where there wasn't any great looming threat we had to struggle with almost every day. Watching my child grow. Bonding ever closer with my best friend and husband. Actually making friends out of people I once held in contempt as enemies. Watching before my eyes as what was once a curious infant grow into a beaming, radiant girl who was too innocent and pure to see the world as anything less than an adventure. There were episodes of drama, of course, and the occasional disruptions that reminded me we lived in a city where death played no favorites and voraciously took what it could when it was able. But life, for once, had something of a semblance to hope.

It was in her it glowed. The promise of a happy, meaningful life. In a world surrounded by so much vile.

Meryl was a character, even when she was a child. She loved to rough-house, make the most use out of abandoned buildings for play in the alleys and absolutely loved going to the latest construction project just to visit Harold. It was clear to me  early on that she wanted to do what he did; create with what we had plenty of from the world around us; an artist in her own right. It seemed to be fitting, even back then, with how diligently she'd listen and watch just to pick up on the trade. I'll never forget the day he came home with her on his shoulder, boasting with the heartiest smile, that his little girl; barely any bigger than a halfling; had demolished her very first wall with a hammer. Or how she'd make me nearly weep, seeing just how happy and full of warmth she was just to be receiving praise from her father on something as simple as a wall.

She'd learned the greatest lesson Harold ever taught, so young; how to live and be happy. With a world that had so little to give.

Meryl and Harold were as close as a father and daughter might be. I was blessed, to have a man who always went out of his way to do his best by her; both in her happiness and growth as a person. A man who'd come home every night and still entertain my want to cozy onto his lap, after indulging in some bread and milk. He worked so hard, between building  our home and protecting it, that it was nothing short of miraculous he seemed to find any time in the day for us. Be it cooking for us in the morning, or taking that occasional breath of leave to go out and around to see if the Square had any new wonders for the day. They'd always guilt me as a pair to try something new, even if I was reserved about it. From treats to divinations of our futures. From strange, superfluous gadgets to performers and magicians waving about their splendors. It was the spice of life; our own little adventures as a family.

How could anyone need more, after having lived this?

Ysold was also quite the influence on Meryl growing up. She was an awoken, always happy to astound her with tales of her world and give her input on everything. She'd often sing to her, indulge in her rough-house tendencies in grace and gentleness. I also think she's the one who eased Meryl into the other duty of the Stonebuilders; protecting home and hearth. Meryl got into more than a few fights, though she always seemed to have a reason that made it hard for me to scorn her. A friend bullied or harassed was more often than not the culprit. She was always so protective of them, those in her sphere of family, even back then. I'll never know if it was Ellan's blood, Harold's inspiration or Ysold's encouragements that spurred her into what she'd become. Even in her childhood, you could see the beginnings of what she'd always seemed fated to be.

A warrior.

How could I not be proud? She was everything virtuous and beautiful about the  people I cared most for in my life. I'd practically forgotten the rest of the world around us, beyond those occasions Ellan would still visit. He had been very busy avenging my family. The Rivarii were practically gone as a House, survived by daughter, her child nephew and a distant relation. Ellan had fully exploited his retainership as an Orzan and effectively remained above any sort of consequence or rebuttal until the memory of his deeds, like so many others ill spilled by them, faded. It was business as usual in the Peerage Ward, though this time to our favor. I took joy, but not in vengeance. It was knowing she was safe, finally, from the sins of my grandsire.

Ellan and I had  a dispute about how to go forward after that. He wanted me to take her and return to the Peerage with him. Even if he was denied the chance to see her grow, to be in her life as Harold and I had, she was still his daughter. A daughter he had spent years seeing safe beyond the walls of Ticker Square from the threat she never knew. It was another painful rejection I had to affirm. I wanted nothing more than to leave with him, with Meryl, even if it meant breaking Harold's heart and telling him the truth. But Meryl wasn't an infant anymore. She had grown up in a place where human supremacy was the taboo, not the norm. She had been groomed to see the Peerage Ward as 'the great enemy outside our home'. She had hearth, friends and a very clear sense of what was right and wrong in life that just wouldn't jade in the Peerage. To have torn her away from all that would have been selfish; crueler yet to force her into a world I knew she would've despised. It might have even been fatal, knowing how combative she could be.

And so I chose Meryl, again, her and Harold both. But this time with a promise.

For the day she'd come of age and stand on her own two feet. Even if he could not have us there as the family he deserved, I would return to him, at least. After telling her everything. She would make that choice if she still wanted me in her life; to give the father she never knew a chance to show him his heart. Until then, we would go on for her.

Just a little longer in the dream. The best days of our lives.

*Another tear-stained, folded poem at the bottom of the page.*

[hide]

Laughs in the air; pure and innocent.

Splashes in puddles; a smile, magnificent.

Free is the heart; surrounded by home.

Play and mirth; on streets of stone.

Ever blooming; more, you learn.

Dusk bids jaunting; to family, return.

Hearth awaits; draped by charms.

Safe and loved; here in our arms.

[/hide]

[Empress of Neon]

~Beast of Dusk~

I remember,

When it first began. When it really started. That point in our lives where that thing we took for granted; a feeling of safety and peace; inevitably was taken away forever. Meryl,  an older child now, would often go to and from the Stonebuilders' latest project to help her father, learn the trade and even get paid a little for the labors. They weren't suppose to, but I think she'd grown on them as a regular. I don't doubt they'd have taken her in fully as a member when she was ready. She always came home sooner than her father, though. And it was during one of those walks back home that she drew the gaze of a monster; wrapped in the skin of a man.

The Old City was not safe. Not really. No matter where you went. It had a way of biting the heads off the prominent, the rich and the bold. We were none of those things; so perhaps that's why we were given grace as long as we were. But even the low of society had their perils. Even here, in a place we'd come to call home. One of the most terrifying, back then, were the Sleepers. Men and women who were afflicted with what is best described as 'evil, if it were a sickness'. A vile so terrible, that it throbbed into the throes of madness. A sickness of the mind that turned once-sane and decent people into some of the most twisted, sick, mutilating, murdersome monsters you'd ever encounter in your life. It was a blight, and one of its victims not only had found refuge in the Square.

He had his eyes on my little girl.

Meryl didn't tell me or Harold of the incident; the one where this wild-eyed man followed and chased her through the alleys. Not until much later, when he was stalking her at a build site. That's where she pointed him out; that's where Harold learned first hand an animal was trying to harm our child in the sanctity of what we once thought was a haven. I was told he broke more than a few walls and doors down chasing after him in vain. Things were different after that, though. Some of Harold's friends would always keep Meryl escorted home, to and from the sites, as a courtesy of the Stonebuilders to one of their own. For awhile, things seemed to quiet down into this new routine. In truth, I wanted nothing more than to stay home and keep her safe from the outside world after that. Why wouldn't I? The world had come hounding for us. But Harold and I still needed to work in order to keep that hearth and home in the first place. And so, that was our life. For months? A year? I couldn't say; timekeeping was illegal.

All I know is there was quiet again. And that the danger seemed to have passed.

The Stonebuilders eventually withdrew their escorts once they seemed convinced our family wasn't in any danger anymore. In truth, Harold and I thought the same. Sleepers did not recover from their sickness; they only got worse until someone put them down. In the Old City, people like that died by the dozens, if not hundreds almost every other day. So, we let our guard down. For one last time. Tried to live life like we did before again. The crisis was over and the cloud looming over her heads was gone.

We were wrong.

It rained that day, when I saw him watching outside the door. While most people were inside, while the rains poured, while lightning cracked. He was there. Watching us. He'd been waiting all along for us to be vulnerable. Harold was out doing guard duty, and almost no one in Ticker Square gave a second glance if someone broke into another person's home.

And that's just what the monster did.

He kicked and thrashed at the door I was too meek to hold. Meryl was frozen stiff with fear; the first time I'd ever seen it in her eyes. The man broke in. Our door, its lock, utterly useless against the kind of strength sheer madness can stoke in someone. Berserk, but calm and collected for a moment at the door. Wild eyed, raggedy, he brook no words. Only attack. I had stumbled against our family chair when he broke in. He went for her in that moment, as she tried to turn and run. The look on my daughter's face haunts me in nightmares to this day. As does the scream that erupted from her, when he slashed at her back and inflicted the first scar my baby girl ever took in her life. I was weak, and could only barely shove him a few steps for the briefest moment before holding her. She was wailing, and terrified. Why wouldn't she be?

We were both about to die.

I don't remember how long it lasted; the sensation of someone slicing and stabbing my back while trying to protect my baby girl. I only remember how it ended. Somewhere between the door being thrashed at and the assault, my mother in law had gone missing in the room. I didn't know what she'd shouted at first. But it must've concerned the weapon upstairs she went to seize. It was a mallet; something from her world adorned in strange charms and a stranger craft to boot. The monster was so busy attacking us that he didn't even see Ysold's approach. She slammed it, square into his chest; sending him flat on his back before she showed a side of me I'd never seen before. It was more than just wroth; it was a fury. Berserk and unbidened by the old bones she called her own. It was disturbing; having our entire home painted in blood. The way she caved in  most of his body. So much so it even silenced Meryl.

Even if she continued to weep.

That was the day the dream ended. For good. The first time I nearly lost my daughter. Nothing was ever the same for us after that. Meryl had seen the fangs of the world; the ugly in it I tried to protect and shield her from for so long. Life stopped being an adventure for her, just as I was reminded of the real world we lived in. Both of us were scarred from the experience, beyond simply flesh. Even then, we were blessed that Ysold was there. We wouldn't have lived through the noon if not for her. And I think she was intentionally trying to ease Meryl into that transition into  the world; the real one, with how she praised her later for having earned her first scar. Said she was practically a warrior now.

It seemed to calm her, at least for that night. After the stitchings.

This event was the herald of the decline. Not just for us, but the world around us. A symptom of things to come. Because everything that followed, soon after, only pivoted us into a crueler more painful world than the one fate tore us from. It wasn't long, either, until it happened. The day my little baby girl would change forever. One of the most painful experiences we ever had to suffer together. It was another Sleeper, but this time it was after someone else.

He took me in and embraced me, when so many others mocked and scorned. He only ever showed me dignity, respect and love. He was my best friend and the man who raised my daughter into the person she was and would come to be. He was the man who'd go out of his way to fix a neighbor's door, just because she needed it after a break in. He was the man who put everyone he loved before himself.  He was my husband, my hearth and my foundation for the new life I'd come to cherish.

He died, fulfilling his duty one day in the market; protecting another from the knife of a madman.

*A poem folded at the bottom of the page*

[hide]

Lanterns dim; and shadows creep.

Dusk begins; back to the keep.

Close the gates; stay at home.

Outside lurking; monsters roam.

Hearth, keep lit;  go and rest.

Here in vigil; over the nest.

Dawn come soon; we beget.

Pray and survive; The Promise kept.

[/hide]

[Empress of Neon]

~Night Without Hearth~

I remember,

The agony in my daughter's voice. The wailing. The tears that flowed from her eyes as I cried with her in my arms and rocked in place on the floor. The day Harold's friend, Bernice, came in and told us what happened. The day that changed our lives, again, forever.

The day Harold died.

It was always a Stonebuilder's duty to not simply build or repair in the Square, but protect it from threats within and without. It's one of the reasons Harold enjoyed his job so much. A sense of fulfillment in doing what felt right in addition to what he loved to do even more; create. He was a strong man; massive and downright intimidating on those rare instances he felt he had to be. None of that mattered when Harold pushed a merchant about to be murdered by another Sleeper. The broken glass in that mad monster's grip finding Harold's neck, instead of the trader's back. Other Stonebuilders caught the murderer and beat him to death with their own tools, but Harold didn't make it.

It destroyed us, losing him. Me, Ysold and especially Meryl.

She wouldn't eat for days. She wouldn't even go to the projects  anymore to continue learning her trade. Why would she? A part of her world was taken away in an eye blink. Her father, her inspiration, her role model, her hero. The man who played with her, fed her, held her when she was scared and praised her whenever she instoked pride. The man who never once raised his voice to her; only ever to advise and parent. To inspire and sooth.

Her father was gone.

Something changed in Meryl when the mourning was over. There was an emptiness, then bitter anger she seemed to fill it with. How could I blame her? The world had taken him from her. The life she had was gone. And even though his killer was dead, there was a unending sense of injustice in the air that followed our being robbed of him. She wasn't alone either. Ysold, who I'd never seen so much as weep, was now often found by the window; much like mother. Looking out and off as if wondering if she was trapped in some kind of nightmare. Or hoping, somehow, she'd see him coming back home.

I know all too well, Mother Ysold. My eyes still deceive me to.

Meryl changed, and she'd continue to, as the years would go by. She was more combative than ever. More violent and prone to fits of it. She started to dress differently in manners I didn't approve, as if solely to get a reaction out of me. Her language became foul and worst of all, she started to drink. My little girl, who was only just starting to bloom into a young lady, started to drink. Her behavior was infectious to her friends, many of who'm followed suit. It only got worse when one of her newer, older friends introduced her to junksnuff. Even back then, I could realize she was trying to drown it. All that pain from losing her father. How could I be mad at her, every time we had a shouting match over her behavior and activities? How could I be anything other than frustrated, when she'd vandalize an abandoned home just to let it out? How could I be anything but hurt when she'd yell at me, every time I found one of her narcotic stashes and tossed them at the nearest beggar outside?

How could any mother blame her child for the wounds the world inflicted on her heart and soul?

It only got worse, when Ysold died. Unlike mother, it was very clearly grief and age. Her mind had been going for some time, following Harold's death. I remember tending to her; it was like watching a person's mind slowly fade away. Fragment by fragment. At the very least, Meryl got to see her one last time, and hug her goodbye on her death bed. It didn't stop the weeping, when Ysold died the next morning. But she was able to seem to cope, at least, enough to still attend dinner.

After that, it was just us. Me and her, surviving the world.

Our financial problems were bearable at the time. I had to work most of the day like Harold did, but Ellan would still come by with something extra to help pay for the rent. It didn't surprise him, when I told him how Meryl was behaving. Why would it? She was his blood. We'd both seen how he changed when our world was upset and wronged. More than ever, her lineage was showing. That almost instinctual wroth that just seemed to seethe every time she came across something that rubbed her sense of right and wrong the wrong way. That thirst for justice. My sweet baby girl was still there though, underneath it all. Every time  she tried to lighten the mood with her humor and smile when I flashed such. Every time she'd put out her cigarette, just to hug me back. Every single instance she told me she was sorry, when she realized she'd said something hurtful or taken things too far.

I believed her, always. Because I knew she was still there. My sweet baby girl.

A time did come, eventually, when she settled into a 'mood'. Defiant, eager for a fight and downright hedonistic; all of which I found unacceptable for her age. She even started to get tattoos along her arms that were outright vulgar and inappropriate for the public eye. It was also around this time that I learned from watching the way she interacted with some of her friends that Meryl shared Ellan's eyes for other women, in matters of the heart. It made me fearful, the idea, of her suddenly having to live life in the Ward, if the Square was ever conquered by the Peerage. The idea that the Triune we'd follow might bring undue pain and further wrong to my own child's life. It taught us of the Lord, the Lady and the Promise; many of who'm somehow interpreted that as men and women must be the ones who join hands in matrimony and love. Never their counterparts. Nevermind the obsession of breeding and intermingling the nobility carried. Some people enforced those ideas, violently and cruelly. Even among the highest noble castes. It was yet another specter of what could be in our lives I now had to face. One that never should've even existed. The idea of my daughter being tormented or killed simply over her heart.

That is how vile our world actually was. It was a place where even love warranted brutality and murder.

When she did settle down, during her own little 'rebellion', she went back to the Stonebuilders. They seemed well enough to take her on as an apprentice at this point, if only that. Sadly, we were not the only ones who were suffering during these times. Ticker Square, which had been founded on a rebellion born from the resentment of tyranny and human-supremacist poison that had stricken those of us in the Peerage Ward, had and would continue to rot at its heart and soul. Its original sin being the possession of the Guildmasters; merchants, cons and worse. The vilest among them concerned only ever with the pursuit of profit and gluttonous wealth that turned what was once a genuine haven and home into a living hell. A place where anyone and anything had a price; even a man's soul or a child's life on a Writ of Murder.

The dream had become a nightmare.

There wasn't a single direction in our lives I did not fear for Meryl's life. Even as she seemed to start finding something resembling happiness and comfort in her friends and worldly dalliances, as the seasons passed, things only seemed to get worse and worse for us. From the wars and planar calamities that'd come to bring ruin to our streets, to the rising caste of robber barons and thieves who'd come to join the plutocratic farce that had become the Guild of Merchants. It is telling a literal devil sat among our masters. This corruption was slow, but sure in its absolution all around the Square. Someday, it would come to haunt every last one of us. And to this day, I still see far too much of what made my second home anything but in the rhetoric and actions of Ephia Well's very own Gold League.

For all the day to day struggles and dramas we'd come to endure, something else was going on in the backdrop of all this. Something brewing far beyond our limited horizon. A storm, unnatural. A darkness; an absence eating away at our very world and all the people in it. It was our doom. It was our greatest failure. The beast that devoured us like cattle, ring by ring, all those who wouldn't or couldn't escape. Its shadow alone would set off a chain of events that would bring nothing but war, suffering and strife for winters to come. It was also the phenomenon that triggered the Ringfall.

It was the Nothing. And what came next was the darkest days of our lives. For me, Ellan, Meryl.

For everyone.

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

[hide]

Drink and live; pain beget.

Live and drink; to forget.

Heal and live; I will tend.

No matter how; to your mend.

Look away; stay to the track.

Do not cave; never look back.

You can do it; you are strong.

Bear the pain; the night is long.

[/hide]

[Empress of Neon]

~Sanguine Throes~

I remember,

Every last struggle. Every crisis that seemed to start pouring into our home. One after another. Every last one with the potential to fill a book. The invasion of the Sibilant Empire. The countless planar incursions that made of our home a battleground for devils, angels, upright toads and countless other threats from beyond our world. The realm was straining and collapsing around us. And every other threat you could imagine was baying at our gates and doors, even with the distant promise of our end looming.

Still, life went on. People trying to live in spite of it all. To the point at which it seemed normal. Another massacre with skirmished struggles between old enemies with grievances in-between, dominating the hearsay and rumor of the day, with the occasional mention of politics. But for me and her, such things were above our head.

She was too young to be involved. And I was concerned only with keeping her harbored from it all.

It wasn't all bad, even back then. Meryl had a very strongly knit circle of friends who, despite being hooligans, very clearly brought her some measure of peace and happiness I just couldn't seem to give her anymore. She'd spend most of her nights out with them, doing whatever it was she was so coy about. Judging by the aromas of liquor and drugs, it wasn't hard to guess. It made it easier accepting she embraced a god of hedonists to her heart. She was never a greedy girl, as was the case with so many who worshiped Phanax of Opulence; only ever looking to live well with what little life gave. Just as  Harold taught us both.

It helped to see her coping with everything. But rumors of the ever-encroaching darkness that was the Nothing were always nagging me at the back of my mind. It was all I could do, powerless as I was; among many others; to simply live and hope someone would come save us. As it was so for every other threat that shattered any semblance of peace or calm almost every other week. Strife came to define our lives; from low to high. It only ever seemed to worsen, and with it, the fear for my daughter's life.

The corruption in Ticker Square only ever grew more vile, robbing any sense of intrinsic value of it as a home, with the Peerage Ward the only other alternative (if you were human). The nearby Ponds ripe with dangers. We didn't have the privilege of being able to travel freely throughout the Old City. One had to best the King's challenges, solve his puzzles, to continue gate by gate. It's what kept everyone from fleeing straight to Baz'eel, or any other number of settlements deeper in the Old City. Those dangers; those trials; those barriers that made our home feel like a prison to so many. Still we lived. Still we breathed. We endured.

Then they came.

A direct consequence to the waning and dying of the realms beyond our own. Not the deeper rings, but the outer ones. Every last one beyond Ring 99. Those who came in flooding as both refugees and conquerors. Their homes made uninhabitable by the Nothing's blight. A terrible, massive horde that flooded the city's streets; spurred on by a single man who might have very well gone as far as Baz'eel, or even beyond to the King himself with hundreds of rings in tow behind his back. His name was Freeward. And his army was simply known as The Copper Torcs. The namesake around the neck of all in his rule.

They came straight for Ticker Square, after brooking a ceasefire with the Peerage Ward.

The Square put up a valiant fight. More than mercenaries are typically credited for. But greedthirst is no substitute for the love true soldiers keep to their hearts in the field. For their families, for their home, for their friends and their neighbors. This, no sellsword can ever match in drive to fight. For all the mercenary companies that had flocked to fight in Ticker Square's name, however, it was the legion of mercenaries from Baz'eel itself, ironically, that chose to fold its resistance. Why? How? I'll never know. I only know once they did that it was over. The Guildmasters surrendered, as Ticker Square was sacked for all its worth.

That was the second time I nearly lost her. When they broke into our home.

Calvary were riding through the streets. Cutting down any last resistance, even in the alleys outside. I could already hear them breaking into other homes around us. The foot soldiers taking their spoils of war. That was how we knew what had just happened. That's how we learned we lost, when three of the Copper Torcs broke down the door and immediately began to loot our home. Acting like we didn't even exist. The largest of them was handling Harold's urn, like it was something to pawn off, and not all that we had left of a man we held so dear in life.

Meryl wouldn't stand for it.

She broke her wrist free from my grip, when I tried to pull her away. The furor in her eyes was unlike anything I'd ever seen in her. She was so young, too young to be fighting, but even then she struck; screaming at him to put it down. It shattered when it hit the floor, when she punched that man nearly three times her size square across the jaw. His companions immediately reacted, even when she shoved him against the wall. They began to beat on her, brutally. I wasn't spared a strike to my own face,  when I tried to pry her away from them. They didn't stop, even when she fell unconcious onto the floor. I crawled over to them, begging and groveling to forgive us; to spare my child. The one she hit withdrew his boot. Perhaps out of pity, or recognizing her face was a youth's, he spared her.

He spared my daughter's life.

They left with what little we had. But I didn't care. I couldn't even tend to Harold's remains on the floor, as it began to rain outside. All I cared about was her; her head in my lap. Her face bruised and battered. Bloodied and without stir. I wasn't sure she was going to survive the night. But she did. She endured, and opened her eyes the next morning. Her head still in my lap when her fingers reached to touch my hand and wake me. My baby girl lived.

Nothing else mattered in the world to me just to see her wake to another day.

The war for Ticker Square seemed over. The Merchant's Guild deposed under a new Lord's rule. A Lord who would not recognize those in the Peerage as his equals. Why would he? He'd conquered Ticker Square; something the entirety of the Peerage Ward had failed to do. But Freeward made a terrible mistake in attacking the Square first, and not the Peerage. His army was massive; too massive. It remained sustained only on what food and supplies it had been taking in its descent upon our ring. Ticker Square was affluent, with many deals brokered for food imports. But those agreements went up in flames with many of the merchants who had been made dead or destitute. And the docks only had so much bounty from the canals to offer. The Copper Torcs were now operating on borrowed time. Their only salvation as an army was to take the Steadings, my home, where most of the food in Ring 99 came from. My family's orchard might've very well have been feeding their mouths.

But they waited too long. And drastically underestimated my people's prowess on the battlefield.

We were, many of us, groomed to fight in the Peerage. To war. A lifetime of martial upbringing  was almost a hallmark to many of our children being raised to master such from youth; especially among the nobility. It was a brutal meritocracy that weeded out the weak and promoted the strong. Unlike the mercenaries who fought for Ticker Square, the Peerage Ward and the Steadings in its shadow had a memory for true warfare as old as its history. Its knights and their entourage of retainers were nothing to scoff at when taken to the field; not even when the enemy had them significantly outnumbered.

They were as lions.

And unlike mercenaries, those brave levies and retainers who took to the field were fighting for something more precious than gold or glory. This was their land; this was their home; these were their people. And although the Copper Torcs were vicious invaders, they were starving, badly battered from their invasion of Ticker Square. What remained of Freeward's army, however massive, was not ready to fight a people who'd hunt and butcher turnskins and monsters as a sport.

Freeward's army was crushed, in its desperate bid to sate its hunger. His ambitions dying with him.

I know all too well what kind of battle followed. It was bloody, fearsome and brutal beyond all words. I know, because Ellan told me every last detail. Ellan himself was outright cruel to a handful of Torc prisoners before he ended their misery. Why wouldn't he be? He knew we were in the Square when it was sacked. His imagination could only run wild with what had been done to us in the occupation. Unable to even visit, just to see if we breathed.  I can only fathom the kind of wroth he carried into that fight. That unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

Whatever was left of the Copper Torcs scattered and settled out of uniform with the rest of us in Ring 99.

Ticker Square was annexed promptly after the Copper Torcs dissolved. For many in the Square, it was a nightmare made reality. The rebellion was over; the dream of self-governing apart from the tyranny of the Ward had ended. Meryl was no different, even as she recovered. It was an outrage to many that threatened to spill into riots, more blood and chaos. Thankfully, a compromise was met. The House of Commons. Asterbaadi's experiment, or at least the heart of it, in practice at our own home; if only briefly. A place where people could feign self-governance by debating over what proposals and laws to bring to their (now again) Lords and Ladies back in the Peerage to be accepted or denied. However maddening Ephia's politics might seem, they paled in comparison to how violent and chaotic the debates of the Commons could be. In chamber or on the streets.

But for awhile, we had an episode of peace again. A chance to breath after  one of the most significant events in our home had run its course. The war that saw Ticker Square return to the rule of the Peerage Ward.

I feared, though, deeply for what my daughter might do when she recovered. What kind of behavior she might loose outside now that the 'great enemy' had taken her home. I couldn't even blame her for it. My people, however valiant, were cruel; delighted at the sight of sub-humans being 'put in their place'. Scornful of the many faiths that were freely and openly practiced in Ticker Square. And many held long memories, as well as grievances, in those years-in-between when the Peerage and Ticker Square were mortal enemies.

It was also around this time Ellan came to visit me more freely. Perhaps seeing a chance to finally be more involved in Meryl's life, or simply ensure some fool Blackjack didn't threaten it. It was much more frequent than it was prior. The displays increasingly more public, his affections. His pride in the woman wrapped in his arm.

It was inevitable she'd find out.

The day Meryl saw us holding hands in the market was something of another turning point in our lives, after the war. I had not yet told her the truth, nor felt it was time yet, despite Ellan's wishes. Even at this point. I was a coward, afraid of losing my daughter's trust and love. Afraid I'd push her away by telling her the truth about us; about her real lineage. What I'd done to Harold in our marriage. The specter of making her feel alienated from her own people, or disgusted with who she saw in the mirror. So I lied, again, that day. Telling her that this was Ellanher De Veend; a man I'd taken to. My 'boyfriend' as the youths say.

She didn't take well to it.

Not the idea that I'd taken one of the 'great enemies' to my heart. Not the idea that I was replacing her father, Harold in our lives. Certainly not the idea that I'd taken sweetly to a retainer from House Orza. Not a single bit of it. To her, I'd sold out to the Peerage. A turncoat for whatever privileges she imagined. I lost my daughter's respect, that day. And although I was hopeful Ellan could start winning her acceptance and approval in his visitations, Meryl was wroth. Always finding a chance or a way to chide him. Always insisting he wasn't welcomed, or even going so far as to lie that I was with someone else. It would've been endearing, if there wasn't so much bitterness and hatred in her voice. She wouldn't accept him. She wouldn't even entertain the visitations. She'd only burn more brightly with that defiant, rebellious soul of hers. Leaving home anytime he'd come to visit. Spurring more cosmetic expressions as a statement, that even now, she wouldn't have it.

She'd never be become a maiden of the Peerage Ward.

I was so grieved at her unwillingness to give Ellan a chance. And yet so relieved he kept the Blackjacks in check every time there was a murmur of putting our troublemaking daughter in place. You didn't cross a Knife from House Orza as a Blackjack Militiaman. It was a death sentence that no one would bat an eye at. And word caught fast enough among their circles, it seemed, that his Ticker dalliance and her daughter were best left alone. Even when her little fists would fly astray.

It was one of the few times in my life I was relieved Ellan chose the livery he did.

Life was harder, not easier, though. Paying for the fines she'd rack up. Watching her continue to bloom into a defiant, free-spirited woman. Her escapism into hedonistic tendencies was now coupled by an ever-escalating penchant for violence. To the point you'd mistake her and her friends for a literal gang in the alleys. I've not a doubt in my mind she would've been brutalized by the Blackjacks' clubs if not for the looming shadow of her father, or her youth.

Something else started to creep into her, though, after I openly took Ellan back into my life. She became cynical. Her tongue, already barbed, wagging casual insults and belittling me every chance she could whenever Ellan was brought up. What were once hooligan displays to get a rise out of me, for attention, seemed to sour into signals of contempt. Resentful at even being home, where once she'd cozy in my lap every night in the family chair when she was younger. She was angry me over the perceived betrayal.

How could I be mad at her?

I knew exactly what it looked like on the outside. I was bedding the enemy. She couldn't have known that I'd love Ellan long before I even met Harold. Long before she was even born. She couldn't have known in that 'evil Orzan's heart', beat the love of a father who'd spent his life apart just to see her have one. And yet, that's how it was for us, for a time. Ellan would visit, Meryl would recuse to the streets back to her friends; her other family. Growing more distant and independent from me. Even at a time when I wanted nothing more than to protect her and keep her safe from an ever more perilous world surrounding our hearth and home.

She was content to face it in stride; her own way.

But the day came when the Peerage Ward's rule over Ticker Square came to an abrupt end. A new enemy would rise, from the least likely of places, in one of the last few remaining Guildmasters of Ticker Square. His name was Oscar Tchamorrar. The banker. The belligerent. The hoardmonger. The usurer.

This entire time, he was a dragon in disguise. And he'd chosen to tolerate no dominion of man in place of his own.

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

[hide]

Fires burning; smokey skies.

Hoofs stampeding; banners rise.

Sun is setting; here comes lord.

Dreams are ending; sheath the sword.

Bide your tongue; be not snide.

It is peril; foolish pride.

Bend the knee; continue on.

Raise your voice; soon begone.

This is life; this is war.

Now you know; forever more.

[/hide]

[Empress of Neon]

~Smoke and Blood~

I remember,

The fear and uncertainty. In everyone, when Oscar took control of the Square through sheer force. How could anyone stop him? He was a dragon; his scales red and vibrant with the promise of violence. Easily dwarfing my home in sheer size alone. Whatever presence the Ward had was expunged from his domain, with no small number of opportunists, sycophants, enthusiasts and those desperate for freedom from the Peerage; even under the wings of a dragon so vile; following in tow. Some of them even seemed to take to worshiping Oscar, as his idol was raised in place of our King's who'd known hearth and center at the Square for so long. It was brief, but violent. His seizure of the Square a challenge in itself the Lords and Ladies of the Peerage wouldn't ignore.

The dragon's reign was about what you would expect in a realm ruled by a monster. No dissidence, pay your tribute and obey. Even Meryl couldn't empathize with his lackeys; seeing what had become of her home. Already it was scarred from so many wars. Now its very character; the idea of a Ticker Square; was crumbling away with it. Ellan was, once again, broken apart from us, but this brought her little comfort.

It was like a calm before the storm. And we all knew something terrible was about to happen.

The Ward rallied an army of its finest. Oscar content to leave his pawns before their onslaught. They were lead by the last, brave dame of House Nephezar. Nephezar was the Bannerhouse; the 'leading' nobility who'm the other Houses were, in spirit, suppose to follow. Their liturgical splendor and angelic ancestry was always on display, for all to see. But even they had to take pause before what was before them.

A dragon. Covetous in greed; jealously guarding its prize that was our home and our lives. Its treasure; its possessions.

The battle for Ticker Square was sheer chaos. The army sent was crushed by an opponent that was as cunning as it was dangerous. Swooping in to claw and devour the attackers, while safely raining dragon fire from above. Wroth and terrible. Ancient and merciless. They were slaughtered, wholly, as residents in Ticker Square were sent fleeing for their lives.

Our homes burned. And with them, all the memories and hopes we ever had for that place.

Something happened in Oscar's vault, however. Something that drew him away after he was done destroying the Peerage army. To my understanding, his treasures inside were being robbed. And the thieves managed to defeat the wounded dragon, rather than flee or succumb to the same fate as the army outside. After all, Oscar no longer had the sky to take to when blade and spell found their purchase.

Meryl and I were in flight. Grabbing what we could, as our home around us slowly faded away to dragonfire. The sight haunts me to this day; the sight of men, women and children's flesh burning and charring from the unnatural heat. It was like the sun was all around us. Buildings collapsing as whatever support they had waned. My poor daughter had to witness, helplessly, as some of her own friends were caught in rubble. She wailed when her halfling friend Jossi was scorched by the creeping flames. Much like my own mother when I'd lost my father and brothers, I had to pull her by the wrist to; to keep going.

Somehow, the past seemed to be repeating itself. And I curse Tchamorrar's name for the hell he put my child through that day.

In the end, Oscar was defeated. He fled his own vault, wounded, in a final ascent. In sheer spite, the dragon made a final dive towards House Nephezar. The Bannerhouse responsible for leading the attack. Atop its roof, the mighty angel-born Nephezars arrayed for a final confrontation; their magic nothing to scoff at. It ended in a spectacular, terrible blast between the meeting of celestials and dragons. An explosion of their force met so terrible, that the entirety of their House; the cathedral-like structure it was; was utterly destroyed. A gaping crater where it once was.

It was the end of a House. It was the end of Ticker Square. But worst of all, it was the beginning of something even worse.

The thieves responsible for the dragon's defeat were none other than The Knaves. An elite group of assassins and robbers who'd long been a blight in my home. Their patron none other than the very creature who seemed to emerge practically out of nowhere, only to assume control over the Peerage Ward upon wedding one of its longest-mourning widows; Lady Sunpurse. By sheer strength and threat, he became the defacto ruler. One even House Orza had to bend its head to. The men that made up the Knaves revealed themselves; assuming comfortable new lives as his sycophants. We had survived the Torcs and the Dragon, only to come under a new kind of tyranny. Someone who'd bring untold suffering all throughout the City of Rings in his rampage. Someone who seemed impossibly powerful with magics to even rival our King.

That is because he was a vampire. And not long after his seizure of power, he raised the Peerage in rebellion to King Owain.

Such things were above my head at the time, even if my concern and anxieties were not. Why wouldn't they be? I was powerless to do anything about them. My daughter had lost her home. Her friends. Her everything. She'd been forced into a place I knew she'd come to loath and despise as a refugee. We were blessed in that Ellan had a place for us to live, but her loathing for him only made things that much worse. She was a child, being grounded under the heel of a cruel world.

My world. My true home.

I tried to situate her to life in the Peerage. But she couldn't stand it. The etiquette, the expectations, the hierarchies. The human-supremacy, the brutalities, the hypocrisies, the injustice that she'd see  unfolding before her eyes almost every other day. We were a cruel people, and never was it more obvious to me until I heard it come from my own daughter's lips. A riot of non-humans, repressed by boot and blade in our people's refugee camp. A man put to the sword for badmouthing a retainer's Lord on the spot. A youth of the Peerage, tossed out of her own home onto the streets by her own parents after being caught kissing another woman. The outright villainy of the men her own father shared uniform with. How could I fault her for loathing such a place?

Still, I tried, to make her a proper lady. If only to save her life.

I knew exactly what would happen if I didn't. Eventually, she'd anger the wrong noble's son, or find herself in a noose. Dead, siding with rioters who were fed up with the mistreatment they were receiving. I couldn't stand the idea; losing her to yet another rebellion. What did all the others in the past accomplish? We had only blood and ruin in Ticker Square to stand as a testament. All I wanted was for her to live a long, happy life. So I tried, to get her to wear the dresses for dinner parties. To get her to stop loosing her hair like a vagabond. To correct her speech, temper her attitude and pry her from those violent tendencies.

I failed. Spectacularly.

It wasn't always for nothing, though. Sometimes, there was something tender and kinder in the moments. The blush on her face, when I held her before a mirror, telling her how our hosts wouldn't stop praising her beauty once she was out of the room. The look of calm in her eyes when we took a stroll from the Burgage, out into the Steadings; my old home; when she'd see something more than streets and cobbles. The beauty in the flowers and the scent of something other than garbage or sewage from the canals. The look of surprise and confusion on her face, when a Blackjack or retainer she'd have a standoff with would praise her courage, spirit or offer begrudged respect.

That's just the kind of girl she was. One even her 'arch enemies' could appreciate.

Despite my efforts, she remained defiant. And she did not always have the privilege of meeting a more sensible Blackjack on duty, or a retainer quite so forgiving. Ellan couldn't protect her as easily as he did in Ticker Square either. There were politics here. And even though the Orzans encouraged belligerency, there was a very real fear now from Ellan that if people knew of his relationship with me and Meryl, they might come for us to in the pursuit of vendetta. He was, ironically, pushed farther away as opposed to being more involved in our lives. A little secret to keep safe in that den of vipers.

I understand exactly where he was coming from. I might've done the same thing.

Her youth gave her grace, but her time blooming into a woman was nearing its end. The excuse of being a 'child' did not apply to those who came of age. Some were already thinking of her as such and I was panicking nearly every waking moment. Wondering if my daughter was going to survive life here, let alone the encroaching darkness for who no hero sallied forth to meet. Quite the contrary, if anything, it seemed as though the Peerage had become open enemies to the City of Rings. To King Owain.

The Count's rebellion saw the rise of a great and terrible drill. One capable of punching through the many rings; the walls; that kept us from going elsewhere in the world. His campaign saw the demise of House Sunpurse as a casualty, countless dead mercenaries and levies, as well as destroying any honor or pride the Peerage had as leal servants to the King. Many people besides despised King Owain as an apathetic warden. But in time, even they had to contend with the monstrous nature of the 'alternative' who promised them freedom and escape.

It was in this chaos and treachery that the Cinquefoil Rose bloomed. The Rebellion within the Rebellion.

It was inspired by one of Elizabetha's works. Even back then, she was an artist without equal in song an speech craft. One of the few moments in my people's history I can truly and wholly say I was proud of. When everyone, in total solidarity, turned their blades against the vampire tyrant who was destroying our world, murdering or displacing entire rings of innocent people and effectively enslaved us to his pursuit of the crown. His sycophants and underlings massacred or sent fleeing to him on the front lines.

It was a turning point, for all of us, when we chose King Owain over Count Senuspur. Even if it was the more dangerous choice for many.

So much happened in those seemingly endless exchanges between the Count and the Peerage Ward. Heroes and heroines aplenty were lost, with one crisis after another continuing to nip at us back at home. The almost seasonal invasion of Ghyl to the seemingly-endless winter spurred by loathsome fey. Fragments; attacks, really; by the very darkness seething over into our home to give us but a taste of the nightmare to come. Second only to Meryl's life, that storm is what nagged most at the back of my mind. Along with a single question.

"Who will save us?"

Ellan was busy doing gods-know-what for House Orza, while I struggled to guide Meryl into this new life. I think he could see it, though. The weary look in my eyes and face that he came home to almost every night. I recall weeping in bed during a particularly cold one. Ellan saw it and asked why I was crying. It was fear for her; that never-ending gnawing of uncertainty about whether or not she'd survive the next day.

That's when Ellan took things into his own hands and tried to do something he'd never had the chance to do in his life; be a father. He understood all too well; he knew he couldn't protect Meryl from everything in the Ward, even as a Knife. So, he tried to save her the only way he knew how.

Discipline.

That was a mistake. One I put an end to almost as soon as it begun, when I saw the bruises and the look on her face every time her true sire entered the room. I won't excuse what he did, or blame him either. He acted out of love; even if he didn't know how to show it. But of all the things Meryl had to endure in her life, beatings from him or anyone else were not among those I was ready to condemn her to. Even if it could have saved her life.

It would've been like watching her die. In an entirely different way.

Time passed, as the world around us struggled and writhed in its death throes. Chaos and strife remained the norm within and without our home. But we endured, always moving forward day by day. If for no other reason than we had no choice to do so. There was nowhere else to go; no place to run or flee to. This was everything.

This was our home.

One day, Ellan gave me something. Something I'd thought he'd long since abandoned in the shadows of everything. The world, the Nothing, our daughter's welfare. It was a ring; a simple reminder of a promise made. One I had to honor, as Meryl finally came of age. In truth, I wanted this just as much as Ellan. To finally right that terrible wrong so many years ago, when we were separated apart. To finally be seen as someone other than 'that Orzan's mistress' by my closest neighbors and friends. To finally, even with the end drawing so near, at last give him my name as a testament to my love. For all the years he'd spent apart from us; for me and Meryl. For avenging my family, when so many others would not. For all the years we were forced to live a lie. Finally, I'd be his. And finally, I would tell Meryl the truth.

A part of me yet feared, however, that when she'd learn the truth, she'd disown me and forsake us forever. Why wouldn't she? After all she'd had to endure in the Peerage? After the episode with Ellan's attempt at parenting? But Ellan deserved happiness to, I thought, even if it was only for a time before the end.

I never got to tell her the truth. She saw the ring on my finger, the moment I entered the room. She was wroth, when I confessed I'd be marrying Ellan. With, or without her blessing. Never had I heard such betrayal, hurt and anger in her voice towards me, when she protested. She insisted I couldn't. She insisted he was a bastard beneath me. That I could do better.  That I owed it to Harold to keep his name. A name she didn't want to let go, least of all for Ellan. Still I told her no. That Ellan and I had waited long enough. That this was just something in life she'd have to accept.

She stormed out the door in response.

That was the last time I ever saw my baby girl.

*There is not a poem, but rather a message folded at the bottom. It's very clear a trembling hand wrote it.*

[hide]

I failed you.

[/hide]

[Empress of Neon]

~Nightmare~

I remember,

Thinking it was just another tantrum. Just another walk for her to cool off. Thinking she'd come back, as soon as she was of mind. But something was different this time. It was in the air; the knot in my chest. The growing sense of dread as I waited long into the night. I learned the next morning from the empty bed that was in her room, and my neighbor, Marcilles, when she'd made a statement over the baubles; the Old City's bellows. This wasn't like the other times. She wasn't just passed out in some abandoned home from another hit of junksnuff.

She was gone; and she wasn't coming back.

I never had so much panic and terror in my life. Or regret for having put my bronze ear away in a drawer for the sake of a good night's sleep prior. My daughter had left our home and cast herself out into a world that I thought would eat her alive. I bade Ellan to find her, to bring her back. He was tried; between his duty to his family and his obligations to House Orza. The latter of which left no room for leniency or mercy, not even in this. It was hell. Every waking moment. Knowing all it would take for my daughter to end up in the noose was one wrong word.

Days became weeks. Every trail to her always seeming to miss her by a hair. Eventually threading back to Minchin's Boarding Home. I remember waiting, days once, for her to come by, but she didn't. I left letters and bribery both upon Minchin's counter; but no response ever came. Sometimes I think that bitch just took my money and stuffed my pleas in a drawer somewhere, never to see the light of day again. I remember Marcilles, the night-owl she was, staying up to listen for me when I passed out from the day's labors. Telling me the next morning if I had missed something from my daughter's lips. I wanted nothing more than to shout it over the baubles. Scream for her with a torrent of apologies. But Ellan insisted that'd only put her in more danger. That if people knew, outside our closed circle of affiliates and 'friends', that Meryl's life would be at greater risk than ever. He must've known something I didn't, because when I made for the Doorkeepers one night, he made it a point to pry me away. I could only imagine what kind of enemies Ellan had made in his life to warrant such caution; such fear. And yet, I could believe it all. That was just the kind of world we lived in; where love was a vulnerability for your enemies to exploit just to harm you.

She was out there. And I couldn't beg her to come home.

Sometimes, she would speak to us, though, through those precious little charms. The only reassurance I had; knowing she was alive. To boast and brag about how well she was doing; juvenile and japing as ever. Foul mouthed, and I wouldn't have it any other way knowing she was still there. More than a few times it sent my heart racing, though, to hear her in an exchange with others in our home. I'd worry if someone might try to slit her throat, or make an example out of her if it prodded their ego wrong. It didn't comfort me to find she had taken up the mallet. That she'd been resorting to it to get by, like a mercenary or sellsword. She was too young to be fighting, the way I saw it.  Worse, she seemed to be creeping her activities nearer and nearer the front lines between the Count and the Peerage Ward, where it was most dangerous to travel.

Then the day came when I learned she had taken to ringrunning. Heading to the deeper rings. First, seemingly ready to make a stand at Grey Keep in rise of a growing threat posed by a cabal of necromancers known as 'The Bonecollectors'. Ellan was getting ready to fetch her right there and then. But for whatever reason, she didn't stop there; she moved on. She kept going and going and going. Farther and deeper, facing gods-know-what kind of dangers and perils sewn by King Owain that had claimed the lives of so many others who had tried to escape the Old City. To escape? I didn't care what the reasoning behind it was. I was never more scared for her in my life. It was cold comfort, knowing she was far away from the dangers of men in the Peerage Ward only to face an unknown beyond me.

I could do nothing but sit. And listen. For a long time, there was silence.

In that silence, the Bonecollectors rose to their apex as a crisis. A terrible flying citadel had been raised; a ziggurat of terrible proportions and fell magics slowly crept across the skies in defiance to King Owain's magics. Destroying and repulsing all attacks sent upon it. The lich within hellbent on reaching our King. His intent to destroy us; take our souls and jealously seize us from the Nothing. His disciples and their armies had become the greatest threat of the season; countless skirmishes and casualties raging throughout the rings, ontop of the war with Count Senuspur. There was an overwhelming sense of imminent demise. For me and everyone. If the King could not stop his ascent, how could we? Only the promise of a Golden Angel, for aid when the time to strike would come, kept hope alive. Even in all this, my mind was only on her. Only my sweet daughter, Meryl. Ever fearful she had not been able to outrun the floating citadel in pursuit of her.

Then I heard her again. After nights and days of weeping, fearing the worst, I heard her.

She sounded so much different. I still don't know what happened. What she saw, or experienced. Who'm she traveled with that finally opened her eyes. But she was calmer; matured. She even apologized to me over the baubles for the way she left things that fateful night. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My firebrand; my treasure of a daughter who'd had nothing but bitter words and contempt for me for years was apologizing to me a world away.

She kept going. And going, until finally she reached a place almost every Ticker only dared dream of as a distant, golden city paradise. Baz'eel.

I heard it from Marcilles that morning. She went out of her way to wake me up, shouting by the window.

"She's alive! She's alive and she's safe! She made it to Baz'eel!"

My little girl, so young, did what countless others failed to do in their entire lifetimes. But it wasn't pride that washed over me. It was relief. She was alive. She was safe. She was free from ever having to come back here in Ring 99 again. Free from all our failings. Our doom. Our strife. Free from the world I knew she despised so dearly. She'd done it; she'd earned her freedom. I was so  happy, that even the Bonecollectors and Nothing couldn't shadow my mood. I wept, with joy, knowing she was someplace better. That finally, she could live a happy life. Ellan and I were both ready to die in peace. To fade. It didn't seem to matter anymore, now that our baby girl was safe in a world beyond. She her had whole life ahead of her. A new beginning. A new dawn.

Then he came, the next morning. Early, somber, that Velstran Retainer, who tore my heart out with the words no mother should ever have to hear.

[Empress of Neon]

*A single quote on this entire, crisp page.*

"... she died."

[Empress of Neon]

*The hand writing on this particular entry is shaky at best.*

~Night Without End~

I remember,

My fist sliced from broken glass, when I struck the mirror. It was like someone had stabbed me in the chest and left me stumbling back into my home. Tears fled freely from me like an oozing wound, even before I screamed at it; this world. The injustice of it all. Could life be so cruel? After the promise of something so much kinder?

She was gone. My sweet girl was gone.

Why? Why her? Why not me, or her father? Why not all of us in that pit, who had a chance to live and squandered it? Why her, out of everyone else? Why her, so young, with her whole life ahead of her? Why did she come back? Why didn't she stay where it was safe? Why did she have to go?

Why did my baby have to die?

Everything around me just seemed to blur. I felt only blood pulse and that gaping pit of a chasm in my chest. Everything else was numb. Tears blinded me further to the world that had taken her from me. When I had nothing left to strike or throw, I could only curl up and wail. Weep and scream as Ellan watched me suffer in silence. My greatest nightmare came true. Despite everything, I still lost her to it. We both did. That vile, cruel world that demanded she had to perish.

I would never see or hold her again. Never get to tell her how sorry I was for all my failings. Or how much I loved her. Every last bit; from her beautiful heart to her radiant soul. Every virtue and imperfection; everything that made her who she was. I would never get to say it to her.

She was my world; gone forever. And I all I wanted was to die that morning.

Ellan wouldn't have it. When I tried to slit my wrist with a shard of glass. He was stronger than me, even if he was weeping to, he wasn't ready to let me go. I was lost to my grief. Even as the rest of the Ward and world outside  breathed an air of relief at the defeat of the lich, my breaths only drew knives into my chest. There was no reason left to care anymore; whether we died or lived. I just wanted it all to end.

The inescapable nightmare. A world without her.

Ellan explained to me later exactly what happened, after locking me in our room and depriving me means to hurt myself. The retainer at the door told him why she died. Returning to Ring 99, for us. Not just him and me, but for everyone. She answered the call of the angel; finding herself in a host of heroes, heroines and valiants who struck right into the heart of the lich's citadel with the angel's aid. She took up its gift; an trumpet that could shatter the lich's immortality. With every blow, it shattered more and more of the monstrous thing; freeing countless souls that had been long binded to its wretched being. But such power was too much for her little body to handle.

She died, slaying the lich. So others didn't have to.

People would tell me I should be proud. That she died being a hero. But I never wanted that from my daughter. All I wanted was for her to live; to be happy. To have a better life. It only deepened the pain, knowing she was gone because her heart was too big for her little chest. Knowing that she came back to save our lives, rather than live her own. And it angered Ellan, terribly, to think he lost his daughter like this. He still blames them to this day, all of them who survived, with a bitter contempt.

"Our daughter died to save you."

I didn't care about any of it anymore, the world, the people. All of it was  shut out. What came after Blacksmile's defeat. The final demise of Count Senuspur; the final descent of the Nothing. None of it mattered; I was divorced from anything but my memories and my woe. Huddled in a corner, or curled in bed. I was dead; a husk of a person waiting to fade with the rest of the realm around her. Why would I care?

She was my world. Gone forever.

But Ellan was always there, even after I'd fallen apart. To feed, to tend. He wasn't ready to lose me to. He carried me, in those final days in the Old City, often literally. He saw me to cargo in a ship heading back to Baz'eel in his ancestral home in the Vestige. Ironically, under the shadow of Count Senuspur after his lord chose to betray the Peerage and ally with him. I still don't know  how he did it, what deal was brokered, or if it was simply the fading power of King Owain that made it possible. But I escaped, because of him. Him and his companion, Bernice. He'd join the refugees at the Drill after the Nothing attacked in full force. I think he was only promised a passage for one on that ship. He had me fill it.

I live, today, because of him and his love. My soulmate.

Any resistance back in the 99th was overwhelmingly crushed by that all-devouring darkness that had long loomed over us; and the nightmares within. I only know what kind of trials and horrors the refugees suffered through Ellan's lips. The chaos and struggle they suffered every leg of their journey Kingward in that terrible, massive Drill. It was in the mountain from which they crossed where it finally broke down and from which they had to escape on foot.

I understand King Owain met the darkness there. After having finally sallied forth to save his people. It doesn't excuse generations of neglect, or apathy, or everything else we suffered. But in the end, he still did what a true monarch should, and put his people before himself. Even if it cost him his life.

The Nothing was gone forever; so to the King. The Ringfall occurred shortly after.

I was in Baz'eel, ever so briefly. I couldn't appreciate what little I saw on my way out. But I can see today why people cherished it. Bernice explained she'd be taking care of me until Ellan found us again. It was unusual to find another Orzan with a moral compass, or sense of duty to anyone but themselves. But as with many things back then, I simply didn't care. If she left me to die; took me along with her.

I was at the mercy to the winds of the world and its people. Like the ash, floating debris from a place that was now gone.

She took care of me, as so many others in my life had done so before. We kept close to a small outpost; hardly anything more than a camp. I lost track of time of how long we were out there. Or how long we sequestered ourselves to a small nook just overlooking Ephia's Well, back during the siege, once news spread of the 'strange foreigners clad in roses' reached us. I should've been hopeful that I'd see him again. But even then, I was still a husk. Incapable of anything but regret and tears.

If Ellan did participate in the siege, it was brief. He found me again, shortly after we took up our own small camp nearby. I think Bernice was the one who sought him first back at the Roses' war camp. Even when he hugged me, I had no strength to hug back. I was limp and lifeless. All I could do was look off at to the sight of another world being destroyed. Another city crumbling to blood and ruin.

I remember thinking, it will never end. This is the world; and it will always be such.

This is what she died for.

Eventually, the siege ended. And what was left of our broken lives began again in this strange, new world. A world without her. A world without hope. A world without meaning.

A world without my own.

Meryl.

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

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I would give it all away.

Every last possession; all my fortunes.

From the coins in my purse to the clothes on my back.

To my freedom as a person; to my soul itself.

I would give up every title.

Every crown.

All the power in the world.

I would offer every last memory.

No matter how cherished.

I would freely surrender everything.

Even the promise of a life after.

I would drown myself upon the dusk of every day.

Endure a thousand hells for a thousand eons.

I'd let every last god and devil; no matter how cruel; have their way.

Tear me apart and devour me whole.

Just to hold you again.

One last time, with words of love.

Before you're carried to a better place apart.

Free at last from me and the memories.

Forever.


~ Mom

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