[!] A letter is made from an ancient parchment, drenched in the liquid that is used for ink, the ink holds a strong metallic scent that lingers evermore. Care was given for every word written and designed for an important figure in Luminion
In my time, which outpaces calendars, and in which memory outweighs history. I have beheld many things. Blood spilled for kingdoms. Names sung and forgotten. Fire that claimed palaces, and silence that outlived the eternal.
And yet, in all that orchestration, I have not often encountered a mortal soul that strikes the air so clearly.
You are brief, yes, in the way a candle is brief before the wind. But not dim. Not forgettable. There is something in your defiance of decay that demands observance. And so you shall have it.
One of my lesser kin, will remain near. Not as warden, but as witness. A lantern, not a leash. They will not interfere unless your breath falters in ways I would not abide.
This is not sentiment. It is respect. And a quiet curiosity I am unaccustomed to naming.
Burn well, sweet princess.
[!] The letter is not signed, nor does it say anything about who it is for, only one letter was made and left with great care for only one to discover it.
[Here follows a reaction scene for flavor. Enjoy it for what it is, and keep your metagaming sheathed muchachos!]
In the heart of the palace stood the old study. Once Varyian's, now hers.
It hadn't changed much since she claimed it. The walls still held the faint scent of his wine. But the throne behind the desk wasn't his anymore. The power in the room had shifted. Above, suspended by the will of old rulers, spun a slow miniature Eseron orbited by its kin-planets, all caught mid-motion in a model of the cosmos wrought from light and enchantment. Slow, silent, steady. Turning in a rhythm older than anyone alive.
Klepsydra stood barefoot on the cold marble floor, wrapped in a blue nightgown. Her hair hung loose over one shoulder in a long silver curtain. She hadn't meant to stay up this long, but once again, she'd lost herself in the scrolls. Old records, faded maps, forgotten names. She was chasing pieces of the past. Trying to rebuild something better from it.
And then she saw it. A folded letter sat at the edge of the desk. Neat. Intentional. It hadn't been there earlier.
She frowned. Reached. Picked it up. The parchment was dry and rough in her hands. Aged. And it smelled like metal. Not ink. Blood. She didn't speak or move for a long moment. Then her eyes began to move across the page. The words hit different. They didn't beg for attention. They already had it. Whoever wrote them had seen her. Not the crown. Not the robes. Her. Her face didn't change. But her back straightened. Chin lifted. Calm.
Not afraid.
Not impressed.
Recognized. Because someone knew what she was doing.
She thought of her father. The lies. The betrayals. The people he used. The ones she lost. So many names drowned under Varyian's need for control. For the Dream. She was still here. And she wasn't going to stop.
She folded the letter slowly and slipped it into the inside of her cloak. Then she turned toward the window, where the stars still spun behind glass. Her reflection stared back.
Klepsydra was going to tear down everything her father built on stolen backs. And when it was over, there'd be nothing left of his shadow.
