Legends of Belariath

Iorlyn Ornhalya

It was decided.  He wanted his wife to conceive his heir as they had been married for at least two centuries by that point, it only seemed fitting that their union should finally yield offspring.

To this end he prayed to Gaea to grant her blessing upon himself and his mate, going so far as to infuse them both with druidic magic to increase the chances of conception, hoping that the increase in fertility would bear fruit.

But as the weeks rolled on and no change in his mate’s body, he started to worry.  Everyone knew that elves did not bear offspring very often, but that was generally because they were so casual about it; he was actively trying to accomplish the goal and he saw no reason why he couldn’t.  As time wore on, he started to grow a trifle impatient, subtly infusing his mate with more and more of his powers while doing the same to himself.  Of course, after a time he started to feel a rather uncomfortable sensation from his jewels, and his mate complained of stomach aches, but in his mind it was a small price to pay… momentary discomfort for a larger cause.  They were elves after all… what was a month, six months, a year of mild pain?  Paltry sums to pay as far as he was concerned.

He wasn’t sure what was more unsettling, the fact that his mate could not get pregnant, or that he couldn’t achieve his goals with Gaea’s assistance.  He did everything as he should… he prayed to her often, always went to her temple, spent his time amongst the trees and the forests… why would she not grant him this simple request?  To bring another life into the world should be a sacred gift, from him to Gaea and vice versa.  It was vexing and frustrating all truth be told… clearly the Goddess needed some outward assistance from another source.

To this end he called upon a friend of his, a sorcerer of some experience and skill who was well versed in acquiring odd items and even fashioning some of his own.  As the pair walked down the hallways of the Master’s house, he spoke of his current problem and how he would go about solving it.

“So you see, I need something that will aid in fertility for either myself or my mate.  No fairy tales or rumors… I need something that actually works.  You can help, of course?”

The sorcerer made only a shallow shrug.  “I’ve heard of a few things that are guaranteed to increase the chances, but nothing that will make sure without a doubt that a female will bear a child.  They’re rare solutions, and they will cost you.”

The Master of the house made a dismissive gesture.  “I am well prepared to pay the price.  This is something that I’ve been trying to get done for far too long, and a trifle of coin is the least of my concerns.  Just procure the item and have it delivered post-haste; along with the bill.”

His friend was reliable if nothing else, and it only took three days before he returned with a small box, along with a list of instructions.  His friend had attempted to be thorough, but such things were rather superfluous; all the Master of the house required was the knowledge of how to make it work.  Thankfully, it all seemed rather straight-forward, dilute the item into drink in very mild quantities and serve with food.  Glancing over at the ‘item’ itself, it appeared to be nothing more than a common potion, which was in a word disappointing; he had been expecting something far more elegant and sophisticated.

However, that seemed too slow.  According to the list it only increased the chances a significant amount, but not enough for his liking.  To him, the simple solution was to up the dosage and frequency… there were some warnings about possible harmful side-effects, but again he passed those off as being insignificant… nothing listed said ‘fatal’.

Of course, the mild stomach aches he started to feel were nothing compared to the whining that his mate started to make regarding all of the fertility treatments.  She was a good woman and binding himself to her had been a good match for both his house and hers… yet there were times when the prattling of her mouth grew ever-so tiresome.

Thankfully the new-found discomfort did not last long, for as the elixir’s instructions and promises had listed, his mate finally became pregnant.  It was his first child, his first heir and it would open up new possibilities for new ties to other houses, which of course was something that all elves were supposed to rejoice about.  Being closer together, a tighter knit family amongst the trees and forests, all for Gaea’s praises and in Her name.

Nine months of waiting was a trifle irritating, at least to his rational mind.  Ironic that for one who was so firm upon the insignificance of time’s passage, he was impatient upon things that he felt mattered enough.  He wondered in passing whether the continued infusion of Gaea’s powers might speed along the unborn’s development, but he was told to shoo by his mate, not wanting any more of his manipulations into their first child.

Naturally, that didn’t stop him from adding a little here or there when she slept, but aside from that his first heir seemed to progress rather well.  One of the village healers was assigned to look after his mate and was also designated as the mid-wife, which took care of two issues with one person.  Thankfully the healer was a female and was able to share in his mate’s newest habit of babbling incessantly about the possible gender and what names they should give the child depending on the former’s outcome.  Such things were rather irrelevant as far as he was concerned, it was far more important to know the outcome first and have the child in his hands… the name would come to him at that point.

And so nine months eventually slipped by, the Master of the house growing a trifle more impatient with each passing moment, thinking that his mate looked fit to burst at any moment.  When the news of his mate going into labor finally reached him, he was practically bowling over his servants in an effort to not only be part of the process, but to make sure that everything was kept as secret as possible until he was ready to reveal it to the village.  However, the mid-wife had been instructed by his mate not to open the door and let him in until the child was almost born.  After all of this time, she wanted to at least have the first moments of its birth alone with what she had been carrying the entire time.

However, such instructions fell on deaf ears as far as the Master of the house was concerned… there were no such trivialities that could bar him from being a part of this event.  By the time he produced the keys necessary to get inside the room his wife was giving birth it, his heir was nearly born and ready to face the world… yet something in the room felt off… odd… awkward.  He couldn’t immediately place his finger on it, but by the time the baby had emerged with its first feeble cries, he realized that the mid-wife was doing her best to cover the child up, to ‘protect’ it from something, though he couldn’t fathom what.

“Well?  Is it a boy?  A girl?  Come now, there’s no need for all those blankets and such.”

The mid-wife was pale, however, apparently in a mild state of shock… as if this were something she’d never dealt with before.  Clumsily offering the bundled, noisy wrapped elf to its mother, she stepped back as if she wanted to have no further part in this entire ordeal.

The Master of the house had all ready dismissed her mentally, her purpose here was done and now it was time to meet his child… and as his mate slowly unwrapped the cloth from around their offspring, the both could not help but go wide-eyed and stare, his mate even more so despite her exhausted appearance.

Their child had… and they checked more than once… both sets of genitalia.  Even as the baby was crying and protesting all of this movement and unknown happenings, the parents could not help but hold her and re-examine over and over to make sure this was not some delusion that kept them from seeing reality.  But the seventh look yielded the same results as the first and the tenth: their child was a hermaphrodite.

“Well… this is certainly unexpected” was all that the Master could think to say.

As his mate slowly reapplied the coverings to their child and nestled it against her chest, she could not help but stare at him.  But, as the moments ticked away, it became apparent that she was drawing some manner of conclusion about the situation… and that whatever was on her mind was rather ugly.

“You…”  There was enough poison in that single word that even he couldn’t help but be impressed… his mate certainly had never shown such strong emotions before, being the good little elven maiden that she was.

“You did this.  You’ve… you’ve damned our child to be some manner of affront to Gaea herself, a freak.  You couldn’t be satisfied with doing things in a normal fashion, could you?  In fact… here.  Take this thing… take it away.  It’s your child after all, you wanted it so badly, you can have it!”

Despite the urge to slap some sense into her, he decided to take his heir… well, that word was debatable now, but he took the bundle away from his mate when she thrust it forward, thinking that in her current mental state she might do something a trifle rash, such as throw it across the room or something.  Nestling the now-quiet baby against his chest, the Master of the house simply sat down on the bed next to his mate, eyeing her rather overtly even as she was scowling and muttering a rather surprising slew of curses at him.

“My dear” he began, slowly, even though she was practically hissing at him like a cat getting a bath, “this is our child, and it will still require you to help raise it.  Until it is ready to be weaned off of your milk, you’ll have to care for it.”

It was evident that she was only half-listening to him, likely wondering what she would tell her own parents and what it would do her social standing, so many implications and reactions were going to come of this and she had no idea where to start.  It wasn’t anything that a little pat to her cheek couldn’t remedy.  As those eyes once more turned towards her mate, he said, “Do I make myself clear?”

There was something about his tone and the rather casually cheerful expression on his face that sent a spike of dread rushing through her.  She was all ready so tired, and all of this on top of that was too much.  Head thumping into the mass of pillows and cushions behind her, his mate passed out and as far as he was concerned, understood what was expected of her.

There were arrangements that had to be made.  They had all ready planned out a room for their first child, but now it had to be placed in a more… secluded part of the house.  And they needed locks, several locks.  As he pondered things, he was making orders and giving directions to some builders to make hasty work of the things that were required.  A window, perhaps?  Would the child need to see outside, really?  Perhaps bars and curtains so that no one could peek in and discover the secret… that would likely suit the same needs, just make them too high to be easily reached.

And then there was tutoring and mentoring… oh dear, what an impossibly frustrating event that would turn out to be.  An instructor coming to his house and asking why his pupil had to be kept locked indoors at all times… no, that simply wouldn’t do; he’d have to see about his child’s education himself.

“And what to name it!  Gaea, you’ve truly put me at a loss here.  How am I supposed to deal with this?  If I give it a girl’s name and it looks more like a boy everyone will wonder, and the reverse is true!  Hmm… how can I solve this…”

As he pondered this all of the nursery items were redirected at his command to a new room that was hastily constructed by both masons as well as his own druidic magic that helped shape the wooden frame and the inevitable ‘enclosed’ feeling that the room had.  One door in or out, a completely sealed area for restroom activities as well as a wooden bathtub… it was more of a single prison cell than an actual living arrangement, but the Master of the house wasn’t concerned at all… he didn’t have to sleep here.

His mate was getting more and more irritable as well, making him wonder if perhaps that elixir he’d used had made her cranky, permanently.  Every single day he had to make sure that she would feed the child, and make sure that she didn’t do something rash like try to drop it or kill it.

All ready it was difficult enough keeping the servants from finding out why everything was so hush-hush, and why the child had to be kept under such closely guarded secrecy.  Eventually he had to make up an excuse about how his child had been born with an acute sensitivity to sunlight and had to be monitored at all times.  It was just one more lie on top of many others to keep this web of protection around his bizarre, nameless child.  He could feel that pang of impatience welling in him again, wanting it to grow, develop, mature enough so that he could tell whether it would appear more male than female or vice versa.  But the one time he’d mentioned it to his mate, she threw an absolute conniption fit, screaming and wailing at him for such a span of time that he finally had to render her asleep with his magic.

Time passed as it always did, the child growing from an infant into a toddler, hair growing out and eyes becoming all the more blue.  Yet even as it aged it was never let out of her room, only given brief glimpses of the sky through the barred window that was far out of reach.  Other than a few toys left scattered about with no real rhyme or reason as to their theme, the child was forced to grow in perpetual isolation.  Cries at night went unheeded, and when it was old enough to realize that the door meant getting out of the cell, its scratches and pounding upon the wooden surface did nothing.  No servants were allowed to let it out, even if they were to possess the three keys that were required to open the door.

Yet papa was the one true connection to the outside world, and in a minor way mother as well.  Father began teaching lessons of how to speak and such, mother only giving the basic nurturing cooing that mothers did to their offspring, but the loathing she held for the child usually won out, often abandoning it to her mate’s whims and whatever nonsense he felt like teaching it.

In reality, the Master of the house was still waiting for some signs of maturity to set in for his child, just so he could finally name it.  Of course, he did have some obligations as a parent to do something to teach it and raise it properly, not that his mate was doing much in the ways of helping.  Thanks to her meddling, the child’s first words turned out to be baby-babbles of elven curse words, not exactly a wonderful start to its academic career.

It wasn’t until very early adolescence that the child started to develop some features and characteristics that showed ‘it’ to be more female than male.  Where facial structure started as more androgynous, eventually they became more feminine even though there were hints of more masculine traits.  Hair was allowed to grow out, and on the day that papa finally decided to name his child, he did it completely independent of anyone else’s whims, input, or concerns.

When papa arrived in her room that day, he seemed to be far more cheerful than usual, which was odd considering that he usually approached her with a very detached air that spoke of nothing towards a parental bond, but more of a cold academic obligation.  Sitting down upon her bed, he beckoned her over.  Truth be told, it took her a few moments to actually realize that he wanted something, the man usually teaching her a few lessons for hours at a time before locking her back up.  This change in routine and demeanor made her curious, and she approached and sat down, looking her papa over for a good long time.

“You shouldn’t be so upset, my child… that look doesn’t become you.”  He started by fully going away from his reason for being there.

“What do you want, papa?  I thought it was time for my reading and history lessons today.”

Shaking his head, he pointed directly at her nose, causing her to immediately recoil back out of some inward fear that her parents were looking to hurt her very badly.  He supposed he couldn’t really blame his child for having such reactions, but he’d have to teach her better in time.  “Now now, stop that child.  This is an auspicious day!  I am here to tell you what your name is.”

The child blinked, confusion ran rampant over her features.  To her, names were something completely unheard of… her father was ‘papa’ and her mother was ‘mama’.  That was it.  She had never been allowed a conversation with anyone else, nor had she ever been told what the names of other people in the house were; they were either her parents or they were ‘servants’.  All she knew of names was that they went to items to give them some easily identifiable definition.

“If I am to be given a name, does this mean that I will finally be allowed to go outside, papa?”

He laughed… ahh, the eternal optimism and hope of youth.  Squelching such ideas quickly, he said, “Of course not you silly child.  You’re still not allowed out there… I can’t let you out just yet.  As I’ve told you, you’re different my child.  And because of the fact that you’re different, this makes you special.  People outside wouldn’t understand you, which is why I have to remind you so often is the reason that you are kept safe in your room.”

There were those words again… those hated, despised words that her father always used.  ‘Different’.  ‘Special’.  Every excuse he ever made revolved around those two words, those concepts that she was made to remember day in and day out that her body was unlike anyone else’s, that her double-set of genitalia made her a freak, an abomination, an affront to nature… and everything else that her mother had ever called her.  By that point, to hear her mama’s daily insults, either to her face or behind her back, was just part of the routine of her life… they became droll and uninteresting.  She didn’t want to be different or special… she just wanted to see the sun without it being through a barred window.  She wanted to know what the world was like outside of this damnable prison she’d been born into.

The seething look of rage that filled his young daughter’s eyes was touching in a way, but he dismissed it with a small wave of his hand.  “In any event, back to the point.  Yes, I have decided to give you a name.  From this day forward, you are Iorlyn.”

He actually patted her on the head, smiled at her… and that was that.  Everything returned to normal… back to her lessons, learning about things that had no context and felt to have no meaning whatsoever.  What did elvish history matter when she had never met another elf other than her parents?  What did learning about the types and colors of trees and their changes during the seasons if she was never allowed to walk amongst them?  Why did she have to learn this “Common Tongue” when she had never heard anyone around her use if before?

The worst part about it was the fact that when her father smiled at her like that, it gave her the faintest twinge of hope that he would start treating her differently.  To have a name meant to have more of an identity, made her more of a… person, instead of a thing.  However, despite that fact (mostly gleaned from her readings) there was no change in her father’s behavior, almost as if that small pat on the head and his warm smile were mere pebbles in a surging river’s currents… tossed aside and lost.

In any event she had a name now, though it might have been wonderful if her mother could no longer call her a thing or an ‘it’.  Naturally her mother rarely used her new name, still preferring to hurl insults and mockeries… and that too became part of the routine.  The only joy she had in her life was receiving new books to read, the ones with pictures being coveted above all others.  Strangely, for all the casual cruelty that her father put her through, he seemed to care nothing about granting her books to read; to further her knowledge and develop her mind were things that he appeared to take keen interest in, even though she’d never been allowed outside.

One day, on a complete whim, she decided that she’d had enough, that she had to do something to prove to her father that she was capable of being removed from the walls of her bedroom cell.  She waited until her usual lesson time and then hid behind the door, her heart starting to pound at all of the ideas that could come of this… what would other elves look like?  What would the sun look like, the sky, the things that were supposedly all around them?  Almost giddy, she waited as quietly as she could… and right on time the click of the multiple locks heralded the arrival of her father.

Only this time instead of her father opening the door to see her sitting at her table, reading a book, he simply heard a flurry of feet from behind him.  Turning around in shock, the Master of the house could only watch as a little bundle of twenty-three year old elf went dashing down the corridor.  As his rational mind put one and one together, he couldn’t help but cock his head to one side, wondering how he was going to catch her with a minimum of the servants catching sight of his daughter.

Naturally, Iorlyn had no idea which way to go but none of that mattered… every direction led her towards something she’d never seen before.  A vase sitting on a small table… the windows that had bright sunlight streaming in… the surprised looks on the faces of the few servants that were staring, wondering where this pale-skinned girl had come from.  She thought she heard shouts from her father from far behind her, but she paid it no mind, scurrying around like a rat trying to experience as much as she could.

Her ‘journey’ was cut short when she ducked through an open doorway into someone’s bedroom, coming face to face with a full-length changing mirror.  Gasping with eyes wide, Iorlyn could not help but gape transfixed at the image within the reflective glass… the first time she had ever laid eyes upon herself.  Hesitantly walking forward, she reached out to touch the reflection even as it reached towards her in kind… so rapt was she that she barely noticed the image of her papa right behind her, face calm but eyes wild with rage.

But it didn’t matter to her… so she had been caught, this was worth it.  She preferred to continue looking at her own image in the mirror even as her father spoke to her.  “I can’t say how disappointed I am in you, Iorlyn… to think that I had read so much about how children were rebellious but you had always been such a good child.  I had eternally hopeful that you’d always be a good child, but there is no way to ignore this transgression.  I… am going to have to punish you.”

She saw him move his hand towards her, a soft green light coming to life upon his fingertips… and then everything went black as she slumped to the floor, asleep.

Dreamlessly she floated across the edge of consciousness, unaware of the passage of time or even her surroundings.  But when she finally awoke, she was completely enshrined within darkness so deep at even her elven eyes could not penetrate it.  As more and more perception rolled in, she also came to the realization that she couldn’t move her arms or her legs… and when she attempted to do so the clanking of metal was all that greeted her in the gloom.

So this was her father’s punishment… total isolation away from all things that she had grown up with.  No light, no books, and the shiver in her limbs told her that she was naked as well.  The only thing she currently had were her hearing and her thoughts, forcing her mind to cope with every little sound that trickled past her, the dripping of what sounded like water falling from above… right onto her head.

There was no way to tell if minutes, hours, or days passed… but no one came for her.  No sounds of life outside the door that was triply locked… no insults from her mother, no lessons from her father.  Just this strange… oubliette of darkness and steel that was her purgatory for having dared to see the world outside her cell.

The only marker of the passage of time was her breathing, and the water that continually dripped onto her from above.  It didn’t take her long to make the cold conclusion that this was her only source of drinking water that she was going to be given, and even the action of bending her head back to get the proper angle for the precious liquid to land in her mouth was a strain on her muscles in her bound position.

No food, no company, nothing to pass the time with… she attempted to delve into her memories of the world outside to try and draw some comfort no matter how slight… but it was too taxing.  Why would she want to cling to the life outside of this darkness when it was no less bleak?

Her answer came perhaps three days later, when she started to wail in agony, frustration, rage, terror… so many emotions tore through her as she felt herself breaking, felt her mind fracturing from this eternal black that filled every pore and crevice of her body and mind.  This must have been what her father wanted… to teach her that no matter how horrible the life he had created around her was, there was always something worse… that even the simple things that she had come to take for granted could be stolen from her.

Screaming yielded nothing… threats yielded nothing… clawing at the shackles around her wrists did nothing… the walls were soft, earthen, but there was no way to dig out the supports from wherever her chains were suspended from.  She was lost in this hole, abandoned as far as she knew… was her father unwilling to directly kill his own child, so he simply left her to waste away in this hell?

Just when she thought time ceased to have meaning, the creak of heavy iron hinges screamed in protest as what must have been a door opened up.  Light immediately spilled into the room, blinding her with a curtain of hot fire rather than the darkness she’d been sealed into.  Groaning in pain, she could only squint her eyes and wait for them to adjust… but she more or less knew that the person standing there had to be her captor, her father.

“I hope that this little lesson has taught you something, my child.  I guess my words were not sufficient, but you are not ready to see the world yet, and it is certainly not ready to see you.  I can’t help the fact that you are different, and until the day that you are ready, you have to be locked away, prepared, educated.”

He was talking, but the words didn’t make much sense to her.  Then again, this was simply a reiteration of what he told her almost every day… she was different, unsuitable to be seen by ‘normal’ people.  But she had to know something from him… had to ask him…

“Does this mean you’ll kill me next time, papa?”

There was no immediate response, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking because she still couldn’t see.  She knew that normally by now her eyes should have adjusted to the light… but after being locked away in the dark for such a span, they positively ached.  But he eventually found his voice.  “Of course not, child.  What good could possibly come of your death?  You can’t learn anything if you’re dead… stop talking nonsense.”

She made some soft sound of acceptance of what he said, not because she was afraid of dying, but  because it told her that every time she ran out of her room she’d have to endure time in ‘the hole’… she had no better name for it.  So long as she was eventually let out, was it worth it?  It had to be worth it… she told herself that over and over as her father unlocked the chains and carefully let her down.  It was just time lost, and she realized that she had handled the initial realization of being locked away under the earth very badly.

He picked her up, naked body and all, and with her being as exhausted and food-deprived as she was, all she could do was rest against him as her father carried her quietly down the hallway towards her room.  She heard his heart beating, she could smell that familiar scent of the trees and the food he’d had for dinner that evening.  She could sense through bleary eyes that it was well into the night, the house was all ready asleep… the perfect time to move her she concluded.

That was the closest connection she’d ever felt towards her father in her entire life… and she knew that it was merely a moment of weakness that she’d have to learn to overcome.  At age twenty-three she felt herself walling herself off from everything that she knew and everyone around her… starting with her parents.  From everything that she read, parents were supposed to love their offspring, and vice versa.  But none of this seemed to pertain to what she had experienced, and as much as she loved her books, she came to the sad realization that just because it was committed to paper did not make it true.

The more she learned about herself, the more she learned how to control her mind, her emotions, she read more and more about what people showed on their faces and worked diligently to disguise them herself.  She spent years at this, her father never once questioning the choices she offered in books or topics… to him, any knowledge was valuable, even though she still never was allowed out of her room to actually apply it.

Her mother remained a vacant hole in her life, the elven woman rarely bothering to come see her and when she did, it was either some random discussion with her father in the hallway about how badly she hated the child, or some excuse to not see her that day.  Over time the only reason she even remembered her mother existed at all was that her father would tell her about what she had been doing.  Iorlyn could never bring herself to care one wit about the woman, but for some reason her father felt it important enough to mention; he never mentioned why.

They always spoke together in the hall.  She wondered, often, if they realized that she could hear them or if it was done on purpose so that she was sure to absorb each and every word they said.  It didn’t really matter which day it was or what mood she was in, the difficult thing was always deciding who she hated more that day; her mother or her father.  There were times when her papa stood up for her, using wild jumps of logic and would bend words around in unexpected ways… those were when she hated him more than anyone else in the world.  Her mother, at least, held nothing more than simple rage at the idea that she was nothing more than an abomination, something that should be purged from the world and forgotten about.  The fact that her mother despised her was at least honest, a simple thing, and it was always out in the open for her.  She had discovered very early on that open threats were easier to deal with because there was nothing hidden or veiled about them.

Of course, that didn’t stop her mother from escalating her anger on a seemingly monthly or even yearly basis.  It seemed as time wore on, there was always at least one more mention of her daughter’s disgusting existence.  One more ‘freak’ insult spoken or mention that she wished that her daughter had never been given life.  She found it trite, dull, routine, something that you accepted over time and never bothered questioning.  To be sure, at first she had tried to win her mother over, going as far as trying to reason with the woman.  She found out and rather quickly that her mother didn’t want to be swayed, she didn’t want to accept her; almost as if her mother required that burning, smoldering center of disgust for which to pin all the evils of the world upon.

Perhaps the most childish outburst from her mother came on a seemingly random day, nothing about it out of the ordinary and nothing about it worthy of mentioning, except for the simple fact that her mother had tried to kill her; at least, she thought that was the intended action her mother was trying to take amidst all the screaming.  Nothing quite as devious as poisoning her or as outlandish as trying to hire an assassin.  No, it was a very direct and, as she thought back on it, humorously bumbling attempt born out of frustration and the fact that her mother apparently was completely stunted when it came to outwardly expressing herself.

Her mother had arrived to her room to deliver her lunch, finding Iorlyn sitting in her usual chair by the only window that allowed sunlight into her room.  And like many times before, her mother deposited the tray upon the table along with the tea pot.  Only this time, the elven woman simply stood there, staring down at her daughter for several moments.  Ironically, she was so used to her mother putting her meal down and leaving she hadn’t realized at all that the woman was still there, glaring at her with undisguised rage.  Off-handedly, Iorlyn asked what her mother could possibly have forgotten, or was she just trying to burn another memory into her brain for later spitting at.

And then it happened.

Iorlyn couldn’t help but marvel at the suddenness that her mother moved with, or the fact that time seemed to slow down all around her as the elf leapt at her with hands outwardly stretched, fingers hooked like claws aimed for her throat.  All manners of words were being sputtered out, but Iorlyn couldn’t completely decipher them due to the ringing in her ears, the surprised shock that had set in.

There was a crash, the chair fell over, the book went flying, the table rocked back and forth until the tea crashed to the floor spilling its heated contents all over the rug.  And through it all, Iorlyn could only hear the screeching of the elf, her wailing insults and the feeling of those warm hands around her neck.  But, as focus returned and the world righted itself, Iorlyn looked at her situation, the circumstances surrounding it.

And she laughed.

She couldn’t help it; it was all so comical to watch this weak woman trying her best to cut off the circulation to her daughter’s brain, and actually kill her.  She wasn’t doing a very good job of it, though it was enough to reduce the otherwise clarion peals of laughter to choked, gasped wheezing sounds.  But it was enough to further infuriate her mother, making her try even harder, shaking her daughter’s form back and forth, wanting to just end this all, the frustration and misery and self-induced hell that had been created by doing nothing more than giving birth to what she termed a monstrosity.

But despite her mother’s attempt, she was ultimately a weak person.  Iorlyn merely had to wait until the burst of adrenaline-sparked activity wound itself out, her mother reduced to little more than a sobbing mess of an elf, collapsing off to the side and wringing her hands in the futility of it all.  And all Iorlyn could do was watch her, feeling nothing but pity and even a twinge of embarrassment for the woman, her mother.  Was this really the best she could do?  Was this the extent of the ‘hatred’ she’d been openly harboring towards her daughter for all these years?  She couldn’t help but feel the entire thing was pathetic, but it showed her beyond a doubt what she had suspected all along: her mother was a powerless little creature, angry at the world and what had been handed to her, and was lashing out in an ineffectual way as if it would change something.

Finally, Iorlyn sat up and idly rubbed at her throat.  It had hurt, despite the fact that it had been woefully insufficient to actually threaten her life, but she would not show the outward signs of pain and give her mother any sense of satisfaction as a result of her tantrum.  “You’ve ruined my lunch… mama.”

The elven woman stopped sobbing long enough to turn to her daughter and exhaustedly snarl “I despise you, you hideous creature.”

She couldn’t help but sigh… by this point that was more akin to saying ‘hello’ from her mother. “Yes yes, mama.  I understand all that.  Are you quite finished?  If so, please be so kind as to summon a servant to clean up the mess you’ve made.”

There really wasn’t much more to say at that point, not that it stopped her mother from unleashing another tired tirade of insults, most of which Iorlyn had heard so frequently before that she started to say them aloud with her mother.  At first the elven woman kept at it, but as she realized that her daughter was continuing to openly mock her, she gave up.  Picking herself up, the exhausted elf simply dragged herself out of the room, indeed doing what she was told in the capacity of summoning a servant to tidy up the mess.

After that incident, she really couldn’t say that she hated her mother more than her father.  While papa went along with his usual manipulative delusions, at least mama was far more open about her stance on what she thought of Iorlyn: that unbridled hatred which was both endearing and tiresome at the same time.  To think that for all her mother’s bravado, the best she could do was a pitiful strangulation attempt without any forethought on what was actually needed to do to kill her.

But papa was an entirely different matter, and Iorlyn always felt a strange apprehension when dealing with him.  There were times when he was genuinely sweet, helpful even.  And there were times when he was baiting her, trying to get her to do something or react in a certain way just for the sake of some experiment that only made sense to him.  None of it was directly threatening which only further vexed her, because even when she was on her highest guard, he still managed to sneak things past her and for what?  It wasn’t as if she needed more humiliation in her life, having had that rather monumental step taken the moment she was born.

So she was, of course, cautious and curious at the same time when her father brought her a new servant, this one elvish and supposedly well trained as a slave.  Her father was cryptic as ever, merely said that this would be her daughter’s new companion and that she was ‘different’, unlike any of the others in the household.  This perked Iorlyn’s curiosity from the start… but it also started to trigger inward sessions of seething hatred.  “Different”?  “Special”?  These were the only rights that Iorlyn had in this prison she was locked into, because of what she was.  Now there was another?  Someone else who shared in that right, that rank, that role?

Iorlyn despised the slave-girl Jaev before she ever met her.  And when her papa introduced them with that smug smile on his face, Iorlyn was all ready plotting, all ready preparing to ensure that her own survival would be assured.  Even as her father was prattling on about what Jaev could do and how she had been trained, Iorlyn’s eyes were tearing through the girl who stood there, perfect, eyes downcast and hands behind her back, a little doll waiting for its owner to play with it.

“From now on, this girl will be your constant companion, my daughter.  I’m sure you can find numerous applications for her skills and abilities, yes?  I’ll leave you two alone to get better… acquainted” and with that her father left, the click of the door’s lock once more reminding Iorlyn that she was alone.

But not fully alone, she now had this porcelain doll with which to play with.

Jaev remained completely silent at first, which caused Iorlyn to snarl quietly to herself and walk around the slave, trying to figure out what was going through her father’s head.  Was this a challenge?  A threat?  A puzzle that she was supposed to figure out?  She went as far as to poke the girl in the shoulder, just to ensure that she was truly a living creature and not some strange Gaean work of magic.  A soft squeak of curiosity was the response, Iorlyn growling as she continued pacing about.

Finally, Jaev’s training and inward curiosity about her new ‘Mistress’ got the better of her and she had to speak.  “My Lady forgive this slave, but is there something that you wish of me?”

Iorlyn stopped in mid-step and turned to face the girl, studying her as though a dog had just talked to her.  It was a fair question, as some part of Iorlyn’s analytical mind told her that if she had been in a similar situation that would likely have been the first question to pass her lips.  Still, it did nothing to ebb the suspicion that was further growing.  Moving to stand in front of the girl, who was infuriatingly taller than she was, she reached upwards and took hold of her chin to make her look into Iorlyn’s eyes.  A soft gasp was the only outward response, soft blue eyes gazing at her with so many questions behind them.  What was her new Mistress going to be like, would she be kind, where would she sleep, how long would she be owned, when would her new owner warm up to her?

“Why did my father… acquire you?”  The grip on Jaev’s chin wasn’t wavering, indeed for the moment it was relatively light despite the inner turmoil going through Iorlyn’s mind.

“Master mentioned something about you needing a constant companion, someone who could come to understand you and always be with you.”  Words flowing freely, almost eagerly as the uncomfortable silence had finally been broken.

“And what makes you different, hmm?  You look as plain and ordinary as any little elven slave that I’ve been able to witness in the few times I’ve managed to flee from papa’s cage.”  It was building again, but she had to push it away, had to get her answers before it exploded.

“Different, Mistress?  This slave doesn’t understand…”  The uncertainty was there, the fear.  It wasn’t a fear of Iorlyn however, but a fear born out of a slave’s training and being unable to do what had been asked of her the first time.

“You heard me.  What’s special about you?  Papa told me that you were different, so there has to be something to you… what am I not seeing?”  Hand’s grip started to tighten, turn the girl’s face this way and that as though some obvious answer would be written on the curvature of jaw or along the throat where a dainty little collar of leather and lace had been affixed.

“There… there is nothing special about this slave, Mistress.  She was purchased so that she would be able to serve you.”  Further nervousness was starting to rock the girl, as if her father hadn’t warned her about how erratic Iorlyn could be, her mood swings.  This had to be a set-up… a trap.

“Nothing?  Nothing at all.  You’re lying to me.  But don’t worry, meat.  I’m sure that I can find out exactly what’s so special about you.  So… different.”  Iorlyn’s eyes were wide now, alive, wild and unchecked.  That feral hatred had been let loose…

There was a scream, blood-curdling and loud, echoing through the walls of the lower portions of the house.

By the time the Master of the house had been summoned, pulled away from his business with the other Gaean druids, no one was willing to check what was going on behind the door that lead to the daughter’s room.  A few had tried to listen at the door, but there had been little aside from strange whimpering and when even that had fallen silent, just wet, moist sounds.  The Master and Lady of the house were the only two with the keys to the door, and the Lady had absolutely no interest in finding out what had happened.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened.  This was supposed to be a step in the right direction for his daughter… this was supposed to be a new beginning that would further acclimate her into elven society, so that he could finally get her out of the house and be rid of this whole nightmare that he’d started seventy-five years ago.  Fearing the worst, he sent the servants away (who were only too happy to dismissed, despite their burning curiosity) and placed his hand on the door handle.  A deep breath, the key inserted into the lock, he tried to bastion his mind, to think that hopefully nothing horrific lay beyond the threshold.

The door opened… and it showed him just how wrong he was.

Signs of a struggle were everywhere, as well as splatters and streaks of blood.  Someone had been in a desperate rampage to get through the doorway that he was just now moving through, scratches at the wall and crimson pools across the floor, both in rivers and in deeply staining puddles.

And across the room on the table that normally held his daughter’s books and study materials, was the eviscerated corpse of the servant girl that he’d bought barely three days before, the perfect little slave who was going to show his daughter what it meant to have another life by your side.

The body had been opened up in a manner that some might consider macabre art, grotesquely peeled apart from the chest and torn from throat to crotch.  Ribs were splayed out at random angles, some broken or even sawed off while others were left intact, seemingly because they were not obstacles to what was being sought after.  Lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling, face a collection of terror and pain, blood and tears mixed in some vile mascara that was now caked across pale flesh.

Through the span of her father’s jaw-dropped surprise Iorlyn continued to work, categorizing everything that she was pulling from the cadaver, nonchalantly drawing in one of her books and making notations along side the pictures.  The wet slopping sound of some internal organ snapped the Master of the house back to the here and now, watching with transfixed fascination as his daughter placed it on a plate and made another note.

“Oh… hello papa,” she spoke in a voice that rang with an eerie calm, almost cheerfulness, as if for the first time his daughter approved of something that he’d given her.  “I’m still trying to find out what’s so special and different about this shell you gave me.  But don’t worry, I think I’m going to discover something soon.”

“What… have you… done?  Iorlyn… how… how could you?”  These weren’t relevant questions, or even the ones he wanted to ask.  But the reflex, the struggle to come to terms with what his rational mind was telling him, useless inquires born out of shock and emotions.

“How could I what, papa?  You gave this girl to me, as my slave correct?  That means I can do anything I want with her, and for the moment I’m trying to figure out what’s so special about her.  I was thorough with her exterior, but I confess that I wasn’t able to find a single thing that made her stand out.  I’m sure I’m close to finding out what’s so different about her, and this is the logical thing to do next… fear not, I’ve documented everything I’ve extracted from her, and it’s given me an excellent opportunity to work on my drawing skills.  Even you’ll admit, once you stop staring and come over here to look, that my skill in drawing pictures has improved.”

That was it; the last straw.  The Master of the house felt something in his mind snap and he’d later realize that it was simply the end of his patience.  Calling upon Gaea’s powers the Master was ready to tear his daughter asunder when he suddenly stopped.  No… there had be an alternate path, a calmer way to handle this which didn’t involve more death.  Looking at his shocked child who very quickly realized that her father was not kidding around, he instead did something far more benign, going to that Sleep spell used so many times before to render the girl unconscious.  Iorlyn had no defense against her father or his magic and quickly succumbed, slumping to the ground amidst the blood and gore that surrounded her.

Closing and hastily locking the door, the Master’s mind raced trying to figure out exactly what he was going to do about this.  Though his daughter always walked a dangerous edge, never before had she killed another living creature… at least, not to his knowledge.  The cold feeling of the possibility of this not being the first time gripped him, though he considered that he’d kept her under such close watch, such scrutiny and lock and key… there was no possible way.  Instead of dwelling on Iorlyn, he instead decided that he would have to fix this problem and do it quickly.  Summoning his sorcerer friend from the council, the two walked down the halls of the Master’s house.

“She’s gone too far this time.  How could I have been so monumentally naïve as to think she’d react with open arms and warmth?”

The sorcerer had to keep a snort internalized, considering that after all that the girl had been through, how could he not see this coming.  “Well, my friend, you did tell her that the slave girl was ‘different’.  Apparently that was the trigger… but to be honest you should have expected this reaction.  Then again…”

The Master cut him off.  “Please don’t dredge this up again.  Look, what has gone on these past years is a family affair.  I only dragged you into it because you have the power and the ability to fix some of these messes.  Speaking of which, I need this one taken care of as soon as possible.  Like, within the hour.”

“It’s going to cost you.  What exactly do you want me to do?  And what of Iorlyn?  She’s still in the room with the body… and the blood and whatever else she did in there.”  The sorcerer was all ready calculating his fee, minus his ‘discount’ for a friend of course.

The Master grumbled, but knew that he had to take responsibility for this.  “I know it will cost… look, I need this taken care of the right way.  The slave girl needs to be put back together and resurrected.  If you can dig into her mind and wipe the last week of memory out as well, I’ll pay for that.”

There was a pause, the sorcerer making sure he’d heard that correctly.  “You… by Gaea you’re really taking responsibility for this.  I’ll see to it that it’s handled, but even with my friendly shaving of coin off the top, it’s still going to cost a hefty sum.”

“I know!  I know… but it’s not fair to that girl, nevermind what a waste it would be to have such a well-trained creature perish over a simple oversight by me.  But… that leaves my daughter.  What… what could I possibly do to make sure she doesn’t murder another living creature ever again?”  They turned a corner, the Master’s mind working even more feverishly than before, weighing options and possible outcomes.

“Whatever you come up with, I’ll try to assist you.  But you know Iorlyn better than I… and I have a feeling that talking to her about this isn’t going to get it through her mind that what she did was wrong.”

The Master paused mid-step.  “That… is a possibility.  I could talk to her.  She may be a bit rattled in the head, but she’s highly intelligent, nevermind that it’s bordering on sociopathic behavior.”  He paused, looking over at his friend who was giving him an incredulous look.  “It might work.”

“I think there is a high chance that it will not.  You had best have a contingency plan in reserve, my friend.  Have you ever tried to actually be a father to her, strict with her?”

The Master could not help but scowl, shaking his head slightly. “I know that as well.  Damn it, I have several things going through my mind at once, but it’s not like I can just snap my fingers and… fix everything…?”

The sorcerer could not help but prod that trailed off sentence.  “You’ve thought of something.  And whatever that something is, it tells me that it’s going to cost you another pretty amount of coin.”

“I have… I have a plan, so to speak.  And yes, I am going to need something from you but we’ll worry about that later.  We have to clean up Iorlyn’s room for now and then we can see about fixing the issue.  Here, just so I don’t forget, I’ll write it down and you can look into creating this for me.”

The sorcerer waited for the parchment’s ink to be dry before he scanned it, eyes widening as he calculated what it would take… and then he simply said, “This… is really going to cost you my friend.”

Iorlyn had been taken to ‘the hole’ once more, locked away without light or luxuries, left to rot as far as she was concerned until her parents saw fit to let her out.  It was a harsh game of patience and wits, one that she had become far better at playing as the years had gone by; her fist memories of ‘the hole’ had been terrifying and burned into her mind.  But by this point she hardly cared, she more or less came to the self-wrought conclusion that this was some punishment doled out to her for having wasted papa’s money on a slave that didn’t last more than an hour or two alone with her.

However, her father came to see her far earlier than she had anticipated, it couldn’t have been more than a day or two by her best estimation when she heard the creaking protest of the heavy iron hinges that barred her from the light.  Squinting and covering her eyes with her forearm, she could only wait for the lecture to be delivered, as it had so many times before; thankfully her mother wasn’t there to call her something snide.

“You went too far this time, child.  I’ve had enough time to think things over, but I will not shoulder all the blame for this latest travesty.  No, I’m through making excuses for you.  Your mother reminds me time and time again that you’re nothing more than an affront to Gaea… but I’m slowly starting to agree with her.  You murdered that girl in cold blood and for what?  Some childish temper tantrum?”

Iorlyn’s eyes slowly adjusted to the drastic change in light, her arm lowering as she looked at the harsh look of disappointment on her father’s face.  “Come now, papa.  You dangled that little creature in front of me and mocked me with your telling me of how different she was.  After everything that’s happened, you dare to put something before me to trump me?  Make me feel even less elven than I all ready do?  Let me assure you, papa, there was nothing different or special about that little toy you gave me.  Tell me, what became of my doll?  Do I get to have her back?”

The Master of the house could feel his ire rising again, his brow twitching but everything kept under a veneer of control… for the moment.  “No.  I had to pay quite a hefty sum to have her resurrected and her memory of the incident wiped.  Suffice to say, that girl will not be returning to the house.”

Iorlyn snorted.  “Then you can’t say I’ve murdered her if she’s still alive.  One way or the other, what I’ve done has been reversed, just like everything else I try to do.  Do you have some real reason to keep me locked in this time, papa?”

“Yes.  This time I actually do, child.  This time we’re going to discuss something that we should have years ago.  Tell me… have you decided on a path in life?”

She could not help but have that baleful look of hers return to her face.  “You must be joking.  Path?  What path do I have other than around my room that you keep me so conveniently locked in?  No, papa, I have no vaunted goal in life that I’ve kept secreted away from you and mama.”

However, that was exactly what the Master of the house had expected her to say… all according to his newest plan.  “That’s fine, child.  Because I’ve decided that for too long you’ve wandered directionless and without any set destination in mind.  This latest travesty merely seals my decision.  This choice I’ve made is for the best… it’s in your best interests, child.”

He advanced towards her.  Normally, Iorlyn wouldn’t have thought anything of this, just another bluff in a series of long-winded nonsense her father had always tried to manipulate her with.  Only this time… something felt off, different… wrong.

She wanted to take a step backwards, but she was all ready so close to the wall.  “What… are you planning this time, papa?”  There was a cold inflection to the way she said his name.

He pulled forth a collar that was made of some dark substance, possibly leather or even metal, she wasn’t exactly waiting to find out what he had in mind with it.  Pressing her back to the earthen wall, as if trying to meld into it to escape… but ‘the hole’ was an incredibly cramped area to begin with… she had nowhere to go.

“This is going to ensure that no more mistakes are made, child.  No more deaths.  No more wandering aimlessly like you are so abhorred to.  No… I am going to fix this, just like I always promised you I would.”

“You realize of course, papa, that I’m not the one you made the promise to.  Nor have I ever wanted you to fix me.  As mama is so kind to remind me of, daily, I was born an abomination and there’s nothing to be done except deal with the very fact that I live and breathe.”  Her father still moved forward with that collar in his hands, nonchalantly reaching towards her with it.

“Just rest now child… I am going to make your life right.  You’ll see.  Everything from the past will be nothing more than a dream… one that you’ll wake up from and be glad  to be rid of the memories and fragments.”

It had been so long since she felt this horrible dread, the sensation of being a caged animal with its back to the wall, all the time knowing that there was nothing she could do against her father and his magic.  Lip started to tremble, resolve was fracturing even as she maintained that glare at him, as if that was a barricade that could keep him from reaching her.  Whatever that collar was, it suddenly represented all that she didn’t want from her parents, no more of this manipulation and constant interference in her life.  It didn’t matter that she was unsure of where she wanted to go or what she wanted to be… whatever it was, when she decided, it was to be her choice.

And now he was taking even that away from her.  He had only ever given her two things… the seed from which she was born, and her name.  Everything else had been temporary gifts that were granted and then stolen back whenever the whim struck him, all under the guise of being a ‘loving father’.  It was nothing more than a multi-faceted lie and this was the culmination of all his interference.

He could clearly not understand her apprehension and fear.  This was all for her benefit, after-all.  The room was earthen and with good reason, as it allowed him to summon Gaea’s gifts whenever he chose.  Roots burst from the ground at his call, binding his daughter’s limbs in place and going so far as to snap under her chin, tilting her head back.  There was no holding back now, her resolve crumbled and she screamed, spitting whatever foul words she could immediately conjure at her father, and when that didn’t deter him it was nothing more than a flurry of pleas and protests.  He mused that even in this state, she still didn’t whine or beg, but for her this display was as close as she would ever get.

With a soft click, the collar went around her throat.  It was such a simple thing, a trivial action which stole her mind and will and suppressed it completely.  The effects were rather immediate as he saw all the fire in her die away, her eyes turning dull and lifeless even as he watched.  Staring blankly forward, the magic of the collar appeared to be working even better than he had hoped for.

This was it, he told himself… this was the new beginning he had wanted for his daughter after all these years.  He would fix the mistakes that he had made, and he would apologize to her for inadvertently making into the freak that his mate despised so.  There wasn’t a moment to lose, he released her from the earthen shackles and took his puppet-daughter back to the library… there was so much to do, so many years to make up for.

Four years passed, and Iorlyn could count every single minute of it.  She had thought at some point that her status as a prisoner could not possibly become worse, simply because she had gotten used to it.  There was some comfort in routine, no matter the fact that it was a routine of hatred and lies told to oneself over and over again.

But this was beyond any hell that she could possibly have fathomed… to be a prisoner in her own mind and body, her will and desires completely locked away.  She could hear everything said to her, but she couldn’t answer.  She could feel everything being done to her, yet she couldn’t control her body at all.  The dream that her father promised that she’d simply wake up from one day was nothing more than a nightmare, one that her free mind clawed at on a daily basis, unable to break through the mental domination of the collar around her throat.  Her body reacted to regular stimuli… when it was tired it would simply fall asleep wherever she happened to be.  When it was hungry her stomach would growl and her father used that as a cue to have the servants fetch meals for her.  But there was nothing she could do to control her actions, her words or her fate.

But her father either didn’t realize that the magic he’d infested her with had turned her into a porcelain marionette, or he simply didn’t care.  The Master of the house was using the opportunity to teach her things that she never wanted to learn, and she could feel herself absorbing the lessons.  He was making her learn the ways of the healer, the spell-crafts of the most useless, pathetic creatures that she had ever had the misfortune of reading about.  All of her time spent learning anatomy and the ways of the body were being misdirected, turned back on her and he was making her learn how to mend people, rather than deprive them of the life-force that Gaea had gifted.

She wanted to resist, she wanted to throw all this new-found knowledge away, but each and every passing lesson, her father forced her doll-body to recite the words, go through the motions, and even though it was far slower since her mind was not fully involved, the teachings were adhering to her.  Her father knew that the vow of the healer meant that you could never willingly take the life of another, which to him was a very clever solution to that whole ‘dead slave’ incident that had been covered up and buried four years prior.

The day that her training into the healing arts was complete, she felt the powers infuse through her, the vows that she was forced to take that meant nothing to her, but she was now bound to.  The moment the last syllable was uttered from her father’s prompting, he could not help but applaud the overwhelming success of these accomplishments… it was as if an entire lifetime of mistakes had been corrected in a single course of action.

Yet, when he looked at his daughter, he was shocked to see that her eyes had become moist, heavy streams of tears starting to pour from the lifeless, glazed irises.  There was no change in expression, no attempt to stifle them or sniff, his daughter was merely weeping soundlessly.  Something was wrong…

Her tears were the only outward manifestation that her sealed mind had shown in four years, and it all came from this new hell that her father had damned her to.  After all this time of trying to show that she was still awake and paralyzed inside her own body, it took this measure to finally reveal something.

Curious, the Master of the house spoke the word that unsnapped the lock around her throat, removing the collar from her with his hands.  And no sooner was that magical item off of her that Iorlyn let out an inhuman wail and collapsed to her knees, then to the floor to curl into a tight ball.  Muttering words that made no sense to her father, four years of pained tears and repressed misery rushed to the surface, leaving her unable to say anything coherent, reduced to a mess of babbling sobs.

Needless to say, her father was both confused and amazed at the same time.  He was starting to understand the implications of what was happening, and as he observed he realized that the item that his friend had created for him did not work entirely as he had intended.  But, he mused to himself, he had still gotten the desired result.  So his daughter lost four years of her life as a trapped puppet inside her own flesh… she was an elf and it was an inconsequential amount of time to pay for the value of the gift he had bestowed upon her.

As the minutes ticked away and his daughter still hadn’t quieted herself, he realized that perhaps she might need a bit of time to adjust to what had happened.  Fair enough, he supposed, leaving the room while his daughter created a puddle of tears around her face; there really wasn’t much point in trying to congratulate her on her new-found path in life at that moment.

That was the last time she would ever cry.  She told herself that on a daily basis.  She had gone through the pretty hell her parents had fabricated around her, and lived through it all.  It was merely a moment of weakness created by four years of mental anguish that her ‘benevolent’ father had constructed for her.

By the time her father came to see her an hour later, she was sitting calmly in her chair once more, reading a book.  Only the puffiness around her eyes betrayed the fact that she had only recently recovered, but everything else was carefully hidden behind an icy barrier.  As he walked towards the table he felt his daughter’s eyes flick to him for a moment, then suddenly it seemed as if he longer existed.  A page was turned, but no greeting was offered, no acknowledgement was granted.  It was as if she had examined him, dismissed him, and went back to doing something she deemed far more important.

It was a start.  And that’s all that mattered.  He left her alone after standing in her room for over half an hour without any recognition whatsoever.  It really didn’t matter as far as he was concerned, the last few years had been well spent, and now she was a healer through and through.

It didn’t take long at all for them both to tire of the silent banter between them.  Three days later when her father came to visit her, Iorlyn was waiting for him the same way she’d been after he’d taken the collar off, only this time she looked perfectly composed, hair crisply in place and nothing amiss about her clothing.  Instead of just leaving, her father sat down across from her and just stared at her, waiting for her to do something.  Anything.

When she finally spoke, he confessed to himself that he was surprised.  “Papa.  I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving…?  And where exactly do you think you’re going, child?”

Iorlyn still did not look at him.  “That hardly matters. You should feel fortunate that I’m telling you at all.  I suppose it is the payment due for the last eighty years of having raised me with a roof over my head and food to eat.”

The Master of the house considered this for a good amount of time, though his daughter had all ready mentally dismissed him… he may well have not been sitting there at all.

“Oh.  I see.  Well then… this… must be because after all this time, the direction I have given you has set your path, your mind is clear, and now you are to go out into the world to make something of yourself.  Perfect… this is precisely what I’ve wanted for you ever since I set my plan in motion years ago.”  The Master of house started to beam a smile at his daughter, feeling a sense of pride in her that had been absent for some time.  “You have my blessing, child.”

To her credit, Iorlyn did not allow the scream that came thundering up her throat to take life, biting it back down before she’d give her father the satisfaction.  The only outward sign she couldn’t stop was the twitching of her eyebrow, another page of her book turned before she said, “That’s just like you, papa.  But not this time… no, I’m through yelling at you and trying to pull you out of the cocoon of reality you’ve woven around yourself.  Frankly, I do not care what you tell yourself or mama from this point forward.  Simply know that on the morrow, this room will be bereft of anything of use or value, and I will be gone.”

Those were the last words she ever spoke to her parents, and as far as she was concerned it made no difference whether they lived or died simply because they didn’t care either.  The only way that she knew her father had even acknowledged what she had stated was the fact that after all her packing was complete, after all her clothing was selected, after all her books and notes were carefully stowed away, and after the light of dawn broke into her room, the only fact that mattered remained true:

The door to her room was, for the first time since she had been born eighty years prior, unlocked.

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