Summation of the past.
I write this, as a stranger to my own land. To think that while I was raised beneath the surface, that I know nothing about its truth. A was just a piece, a small little piece in a larger plan that spanned into my adult life. I am a slave now, yet, in some respects my life hasn’t changed much.
My name is Veri Mzil, and from my understanding, my mother was one of the most feared Dark Elves to grace the cities of my birth. I apologize for the sketchiness of details, the facts, and missed events, but this is the best I could do from my place in the surface world.
Some say a house within the Dark Elven community is built upon the dead of those who oppose it. It is said that my mother was known as the untouchable one, of whose skill, of whose perception of the world around her made attempts at her life impossible. That she was keenly focused, ever ready to cut down those of whom would declare their allegiance elsewhere.
I’ll never know what she felt, when I was stolen from her. Her power, her skill only stretched in protection of herself, not me. I had heard, during the first several years of my disappearance that the Mzil house hold laid a trail of blood in their wake. Believing me dead, or worse, they honoured me by spilling the blood of anyone who stood in their way.
The removal of me, only made her all the more invulnerable. I wonder what she would have felt, if she knew where I was. That I was happy, that they treated me well, but I guess they treated me well for a reason. With all the ill intentions of creating something useless, and in exposing it to her - exposing me to her as a frail and weak thing - to await the holes in her defences.
I wish I could have been strong, knowing what I know now, knowing who the person was who was slain by stray arrow before me. Who fell, like many other people without my notice, as I frantically fell apart and fled and ran until my feet refused to carry me. Maybe I could have changed things - maybe I could have gone for their throats.
I didn’t know how to be a dark elf, and I didn’t recognize her when I saw her. Even when she knew it was me, and in the end a plan worked, and in the end I am probably the last of my house hold. In the end, I find it hard to think about.
There is more to it, the strides the Mzil house had taken up to the point of my reveal, the house that crawled out of the remains of it, which is still today carving out a new place in the dark society.
Somewhere though, there’s a spirit, somewhere there’s a ghost. Somewhere the person I passed over, the blood my feet splashed in, is watching and turning over in her grave. I’m still not that dark elf, and the only fighting I do, is a hopeless push against climax at the hands of the one who owns me, who lets me be sheltered like I was.
In a way, I’m a surface bird, that flew back into its cage. Having seen the outside, having experienced the reality, and the vastness of it, turned away and set prettily for all to see. It doesn’t pain me to do that, because it is what I know. I don’t know where to look in me to find that untouchable thing, or if it ever was inside of me to be like her. Perhaps, it would have been better for her if I was not created, born from her, but I am, and cannot feel for someone I did not know, of someone who might have hated me, been displeased, I cannot take my own life because I am a horrible Dark Elf, when my life does not belong to me.
I am happy here, and I like being happy. I am sorry those horrible things happened, but I cannot change them, nor participate in their future. All I can do at this moment, in these years is sit quietly, staring at doorway soon to be filled by skin so much paler then my own. Waiting to be overwhelmed, waiting to lose my mind - because that is my duty, that is my purpose.
As long as it doesn’t involve toast. That is.
Veri Mzil