I get very demonic vibes from Morgana...

Or is it infernal? Can never get them straight in my head...

Piles of fabric, cotton, and thread littered the octagonal chamber to the point where the floor was not visible. The chamber was lit by a single chandelier in the middle of the room. The flames and shadows danced in the breeze blowing through the open window. Or were the candles moving?

With metalic creaking, the chandelier unfolded pieces of itself into bronze, spindly, wire-like arms, stretching as one might stretch after waking from slumber.

A thief, a cat, and a blade walk into a bar

Several bronze hands went for fabrics, grey, black, brown, and apricot, while others rummaged about, searching under the mess.

Things have become very exciting indeed

Needles and scissors flew of their own accord, sewing the fabric into two roughly humanoid shapes no larger than a toy doll, one distinctly larger formed of grey cloth, the other smaller and made of brown cloth save the tips of the arms and head, where the apricot fabric was used.

Time is against her. Her ants scurry about trying to fix the mess she has made, but there is no certainty, no way for her to know if she will be successful in her endeavours, let alone the success of her ants

Details are added. Cat ears, and elven ears, noses and eyes. A small black cloak. Little sticks like daggers.

I wonder, how desperate is she getting? Desperate enough to make... a deal?

Fabric, needles, scissors and thread fell to the floor once again, and in the bronze hands of the chandelier was a doll of a silver cat and a doll of a dark thief. But one arm kept moving, kept rummaging about in the piles of fabric

The desperate are always the easiest to make into a puppet

Finally the one arm stopped moving, withdrawing from under the mess two cloth dolls sewn together at a hand, one with red flowing hair, the other with brown. Red stitches formed a long line across the torso of the red haired one.

There you are

A pair of scissors was brought up, making a snipping sound as it was brought closer to the connected hands of the two dolls

I wonder... how desperate are you?

My inbox is always open for scheming

That reminds me... we've not seen a post from the Puppeteer in a bit...

76 - that's a yes

Maybe they'll end up with a hostage situation on their hands...

Also to be fair, Aranwen did catch on to the fact that she was being followed, but didn't look down to see that it was a child following her and she already had suspicions of Kithran's skill set after the previous evening, so was extra alert to Kithran's movements

Please leave Saina with me

Maybe she'll appear again

Maybe she won't

Who knows?

And to amplify the paranoia - did anyone actually see her enter the tavern?

(The answer is yes; she didn't appear out of nowhere. She just walked directly up to Aranwen after entering, so people assumed the child was with her. Also now I'm wondering if the waittress will comment on Saina when she reports back... there's a ponder)

PS I loved the 'maybe they're not as strong' also Ch'dau hugs are very heartwarming

Kith did glare at the Syl this time, though a smile played at the corner of her mouth. She took a step forward so that she was in front of her accuser, “First of all, Ara, please do not do that again. Second of all,” and now her grin widened much too fully, “you are right, Syl. Incredible,” she turned to the Cidal, handing him back his medallion, “She really is too good at this, but I’ll get her. And,” she shrugged, “I am sorry, I suppose.”

She gestured to the bed beside Mosic, “Go on now Ara, you stoic, golden-eyed, terror. Even gods need a little assistance sometimes.”

Mosic returned a look somewhere between bemusement and annoyance at the sleight of hand Kithran had just performed, "I would very much appreciate that not happening again," He noted, "We who follow the Right Hand carry little that isn't for the benefit of others less fortunate than ourselves."

Aside Kithran, Aranwen flinched again, as she had each time she had been called Ara. On some level she had thought to endure it, if only to reduce the ache she felt by exposure, but it didn't seem to work as she had hoped, "If you will use my full name, I won't do that again," she offered.

With a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders, looking between Kithran and Mosic, "Well then. I see you will not be convinced..."

She began loosening the leather bands around her arms, and winced as she took each sleeve off. Unbandaged were numerous wounds where blade or skeletal hand had managed to land a blow through the leather, sealed by coagulation as the leather was tight enough to hold the wounds closed. Perhaps that was another reason why rather than leather plates, hers was more like winding vines. Eventually the entire armour was off, leaving her in the light layer of clothing she wore underneath which left her shoulders bare as well as her arms.

"It looks worse than it is," Aranwen reassured the others.

"A-are you certain of that?!" Mosic asked incredulously, "Why are your injuries uncared for?"

Yet, as he examined Aranwen over, his face went from shock to relief. True to her words, her bloodied arms looked a lot worse than they were, as she hadn't the opportunity nor real means to clean them since the string of encounters from the prior evening. All of the injuries she had sustained were minor, though there were a fair number of them.

After Falloes' blessing, her arms were easier to see properly. Aranwen's body overall showed many scars across the otherwise fair Syl skin, especially along her left forearm where she had evidently used her vambrace in an attempt to deflect blows she hadn't avoided.

"Thank you, Mosic," Aranwen gave a smile, "The others' injuries were far greater, and the supplies I had to treat them with was never meant for more than one person over the length of their patrol," She offered as an explanation.

"I see," Mosic lifted a hand to his chin in thought, "Then, what is it that ails you so? Even as you sit here, without it showing in your face, I have the sense of a pain of some kind. I would know of it to see how it may be helped, if not healed."

Aranwen shook her head, "It is not important right now. Kithran has a book she would like to get her hands on, and we have Adedre actively scheming something that-"

Mosic however had turned his attention to the cloak Kithran wore, "That cloak... Is that yours?" he asked

((Kithran commenting it is hers for now but was lent by Aranwen))

Mosic nodded solemnly, "I think I understand," His generally warm tone seemed subdued before he looked to Aranwen, his eyes with a gentle sympathy for the Bladesinger, "I am sorry for your loss."

Aranwen's eyes widened, and once again she bowed her head, her hand going to her face as she began to cry.

Mosic looked to Kithran and Ch'dau, "That cloak... I wasn't sure until I saw it closer in better light, but I've seen its like before," He offered as an explanation, "As a priest, how could I have not? The pattern stitched into the fabric marks it a cloak worn by a Syl in mourning."

Mosic gently placed a small hand on Aranwen's arm, "This is, indeed, a deep wound that will not heal easily."

As Kithran pushed for Ch'dau to accept help, Aranwen sighed inwardly. She knew full well the resistance Ch'dau was offering, and she was glad Kithran was there to push him into accepting the ministrations of Mosic. Once Mosic looked steady on his feet, having recovered from learning the identity of the one Kithran had called Samuel, and Aranwen saw him retrieve needle and thread, she moved to Ch'dau's side.

The question Mosic asked of Ch'dau gave her pause. In all the rush, she had never given thought to the question of Ch'dau's origins, her concern only for Ch'dau's wellbeing in the present, especially resulting of the state she found him in. Aranwen already saw in him a companion in need. That he was someone people would be afraid of, someone so out of place on Antaron, she didn't think of that. He was a proud warrior who she would be happy to fight beside, and that was what she saw when she looked at him. 

With a gentle smile, she offered him her hand. Aranwen might not have had much skill as a healer, but she knew it was going to hurt.

Though she had no doubt as to Ch'dau's strength, and so she had offered her left hand as a precaution for herself.

He just needs to hide behind Aranwen while Kith and Ch'dau stealth and scout. Aranwen can keep him safe, right?

Page 15

This page is written in Sylvan, with an extra curl for fancier looking script.

Young sprites really can be quite distracting, always seeking to make fun with whatever they come across
Or are they even young? Do they have a concept of age? It's so easy to think of them as children, but they could be older than I am
Under the star sprites at night they will rest for a bit, giving in to the tiredness that comes with their boundless-seeming energy, at least until Fireblossom and Lightbloom start competing over a lightshow

A'nia Starflower mostly watches, like a mother content at seeing their children at play, providing the canvas upon which we stand, occasionally treating other sprites and other A'nia
Recalling, perhaps at times, Antaron and the land beyond their own, a land they simultaneously would like to return to, a land they have given up to the peoples of Antaron... is it a land they would like to reclaim?
Even though it hasn't been long, my feelings for Antaron, especially the forests... are they beginning to fade?

Scares me a bit
After all, home should be where I came from, where I want to go, where I want to return
Fever dream as that is now - like any other sprite, I wouldn't survive long if I went back
Even saying all that, it's a strange feeling. I don't think I should feel as though this is more of a home than where I was

Page 16

This page is written in Sylvari, multiple lines having starts and stops with clear hesitation on part of the writer.

Are my dreams... really my own? I keep meeting Windbell in them. I've never met her as a wind sprite, so how do I know what she looks like and recognize her?

It was awkward at first, neither of us really ready to talk to each other. Just idly noticing each other in the dream and keeping our metaphorical distance. Then one night she asked me to play with her, and I found out why I had the name Windbell. Together, we wove wind as one might weave a cloth, though that is a very loose description of what we did. I haven't the right words to describe it. Instead of forming a fabric, it formed music.

The next day, I tried the same motions on a whim, and it worked. The sprites heard and were overjoyed. They were so very happy to listen to my music again. Snowbell in particular was worried I had forgotten, and it wasn't something another sprite could teach me. Even A'nia Starflower seemed joyful that evening. I think that was the first genuinely warm smile she gave me.

I have mixed feelings about it.

Together, we make up a group of performers: Snowbell and I lead the song in duet, a dance of ice and wind - Firebloom and Lightblossom dazzle with displays of fire and light - Waterpetal sets the stage, and enhances the part of every other sprite with rainbow and sparkle

They've been without Windbell for a long time.

When I met Windbell again in dream, I shared with her the memory of how happy A'nia Starflower and the sprites were. She was surprised to learn I had picked up what we did the previous night, and was glad for it, perhaps even relieved.

We shared our apologies. In the end, it seems we both took the other's life, even if she was the mirror sprite.

I don't know what's going on exactly with our connection, if it's even real, or how it happened. Yet, it feels as though... it's growing stronger. As it does, I feel better. Though it's... not without its complications.

... Getting used to the size of a sprite will take some time.

I really wouldn't put it past Kithran to try sneaking another piece if she suspects someone is distracted

“Are you unwell, Aranwen?”

Aranwen blinked as the words reached her and she refocused on the present. She averted her gaze and nodded, "It's just a ghost," she offered as an explanation, "Something of the past I thought I left behind. Names I never thought I'd hear again, even if they're not the same," she looked back, and her golden eyes lingered on Kithran for a moment before she gave a gentle smile to the both of them, "I must remember that I am not in the past."

I am here, with two people who have their own troubles yet ahead of them. I should not bring my troubles from the past.

"Forgive me, that is not a topic best talked about over a much needed meal," Aranwen added, her voice recovering its warmth as she regarded both Kithran and Ch'dau, "Thank you for keeping me grounded. And Kithran?" She gave the half-Syl a smirk, "Yes, I did see you take one of the eggs from my plate."

What a handful you must have been in growing up, Aranwen mused as she examined Kithran once again, And where exactly did you learn to be so deft with those fingers? Let alone your affinity for shadows...

With the colour returned to her eyes, she tried eating again.

This time, the food didn't catch in her throat.

I didn't have any particular locations in mind, but I figured it would be easy enough to gather after breakfast at the same table, essentially after the elderly woman had left and foods were consumed. At that point whether we stayed at the tavern or moved back to the wine cellar is an open choice. 

I'd rather not run the meeting myself. I have a harder time grasping Mosic in writing it feels like. My limitations at play there

I can provide Aranwen's input easily enough though if needed  

“Oh, he's a Samuel.” Kithran felt her stomach rumble, the beginning of the storm, and tried to distract herself with this useless conversation, “Dooooo, you have a name?”

“Yes!” The girl beamed.

“Great.”

“Wanna know what it is?”

“I definitely do.”

"Saina," The girl offered cheerfully with a wide smile. 

* * *

When Aranwen returned she frowned at the little girl who had taken her seat, "I thought I told you to find your parents. After last night they'll be even more worried about you if you wander alone."

"Not yet!" the girl protested, "I wanna know your name!"

Aranwen sighed. She was familiar enough with children to know they were incredibly persistent if they wanted something, "If I tell you, you will go find your parents then, won't you?"

The girl scuffed a foot as she fidgeted, clearly unhappy with that suggestion, but she finally nodded, "O-kaaaay" 

"Aranwen," The Syl offered to the girl. 

"Aran- Aran- uhhhh Aran-" the girl buffed as she struggled with the foreign name, "Can I just call you Ara?" she asked. 

Aranwen flinched as if struck, taking in a sharp breath. Her golden eyes were distant but she made herself nod, "If you must," she replied, her voice a bit strained. 

"Yay! I'm Saina! Call me Sai! I'll be off now, Ara!" the sandy haired girl hopped off the seat and quickly made her way towards the door. 

Aranwen didn't so much as take her seat as she fell into it, a hand going to her face, her other hand clenched tightly as she forced herself to keep her breathing calm, "Just a coincidence," she mouthed in silence. 

"I-I'm sorry about that," she offered, finally, subtly wiping her eyes before she sat back up straight and taking one more breath, "I talked to the Cidal, Mosic by name. He'll meet us after breakfast. Given he talked of the Right Hand and was treating an elder to breakfast, I've no doubt he is a devotee of Falloes," she reported, before taking a bite of the nut bread she had received. Her appetite had left her, but she knew she needed to eat. 

"I've not shared much more than saying we needed healing, but he may be willing to lend more aid than that if we share more of our situation," Aranwen continued, "That I leave up to you two, since it isn't my place to speak on your behalf."

The Syl woman resumed eating in measured bites, neither hastily nor slowly. Doing what she could to keep the meal down. 

I'm over here giggling at how that turned out. You got what I had imagined of her nature exactly. Poor Kithran

The endless wait for food while trying to appease an inquisitive child. That's like it's own kind of encounter

Depends on the how really. If it's a sort of intimidation, her eyes would go wide with equal parts fear and fascination, though the fear would win and she'd cry before running away probably mumbling "meanies" in her hasty departure

Does that help?

Kithran "You are no girl, you're a spy!" 

Girl "Then mesedge for you, meanie. Bleeeeeh!" *she blows raspberry at Kithran and runs*

Kithran "Why you little- get back here!" 

By the way, if you tell her to leave, she'll pout at you, but she will leave out the front door if told to.

Aside that, it's very much the curious little child who is too curious for their own good. And with a clear sense of wanderlust...

May or may not be modelled after behaviour I have been told I exhibited when I was that small

Though size wise she's not that tiny, could mistake her for a Cidal if she had less childlike proportions 

You didn't think that girl was just a one-off post npc, did you?  

As they progressed down the street, Aranwen felt a shiver down the back of her neck. Subtly looking over from side to side, she tried to identify the source of that feeling. She let Ch'dau ahead of her as she briefly paused mid step. But she could see no one who had stopped with her. Frowning, Aranwen moved to catch up with Kithran and Ch'dau.

“I didn’t notice anyone following us, here,” Kith said quietly as they seated themselves, “so I believe we should be okay for now. Did either of you two see anything?”

Aranwen shook her head, "I didn't, but I thought I felt eyes on me in the street. I could see no sign of anyone looking, however. Mayhap nerves are getting the better of me."

Aranwen smiled, stifling a giggle as she watched Kithran and Ch'dau make their plans to teach each other. By her eyes, Ch'dau didn't look that bad in the streets, but she had a vague suspicion the two were more keen on spending time together. Then Kith turned to her, “Have you noticed the Cidal priest a few tables away, Aranwen? Will he do?”

Aranwen looked over, seeing her eyes meet Mosic's in that moment, "It seems he has noticed us too," she smiled, "I'll find out more of him."

A flaxen haired human woman, clad in a green blouse, dark skirt, and pale apron stood at the end of the table. “G’mornin’ an’ welcome ta The Countess an’ Cock’trice,” she said, “Fer breakfast this mornin’, we’re offerin’ a selection o’ meatballs, chicken or quail eggs, fresh pears, an’ nut bread. What can I get fer ye folk?”

“Meat,” the cat-man said, trying not to speak overmuch, “and eggs.”

"Nutbread and eggs sound lovely to me," Aranwen replied with her own order. 

After Kithran made her order, Aranwen was about to stand to go to Mosic's table when a voice spoke beside her. 

"Are you hide and seeking?" 

Aranwen nearly went to her blade in reflex, but stopped on recognizing the voice, "Dear goodness, don't scare people like that," she sighed. Beside her was the little girl she had helped the previous evening, "Did you find your parents, little one?"

"Yep! They said you pro-teckd them and we went inside like you said. I saw you and wanted to say thanks!" the girl beamed at Aranwen.

"It was no trouble," Aranwen shrugged her shoulders, "You should wander back before your parents worry," she observed, before she stood from her seat, "I'll be back in a bit."

Aranwen moved towards Mosic's table, but the girl instead of leaving hopped onto Aranwen's chair. Looked human, sandy and messy hair and a round face, "Are you her friends?" the girl asked. 

* * *

Aranwen approached Mosic's table with a hint of trepidation. She certainly recognized the cloth of a priest, but what kind of priest, and of whose domain? She needn't have worried. Seeing the older woman seated with him, she relaxed.

"May I borrow of your time?" she asked with a gentle voice. 

"Certainly," Mosic offered, "What might I do for you?"

"Am I really so transparent?" Aranwen chuckled, taking a seat beside the Cidal. 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, m'self," the older woman snickered, "But if your eyes are open to seeing what comes your way, you can see some things before they happen. You young'ns don't mind me. My ears aren't what they used to be. Can't always be sure what gets into them."

Aranwen smiled, "I suppose that's true, there's only a few reasons to visit another table," she looked to the Cidal, "I am Aranwen Galandel," she offered, "I would ask for healing or aid on a friend's behalf. Our situation requires some discretion, but you have my word as a Bladesinger that in this venture we seek to make right something very wrong."

"I am Mosic," the Cidal replied, "Now, very wrong?" Mosic repeated, lifting a hand to his chi in thoughtn, "What kind of a wrong are you talking about?"

"I speak of the undead outbreak last eve," Aranwen replied, "Among other things, though those are not mine to tell."

"I see," Mosic nodded solemnly, before giving a kind smile, "Well, I go where the Right Hand leads, and it seems it has led me to you. Pray allow me attend the Mother here, and I will be with you soon,"

Aranwen returned the smile, "After breakfast then," 

If that's her reaction over spilt milk and a few tame words, I can't wait to see her reaction to what Aranwen will say.  just got to get there... 

No harm in attempting to as far as I can imagine. Whether the attempt will be successful is another matter entirely! 

It's why Aranwen has a lit torch - she is suspicious of the green light so has supplied yellow light  

Bumping because it's Halloween!

And my costume is in the post above  

I tend to use this track for fairy music if I want to let my mind wander and imagine fae realms we cannot comprehend

Here's some tentative details I'm thinking of in regards to the fae, now that I've done as much as I already have within the Journal

• The "fae realm" is not quite the right name to call that place - it is a blend of all of the realms of the various A'nia, each with a domain that they preside over


• As noted, "A'nia" has no direct synonym, but loosely speaking corresponds to 'queen', 'dreamer' and even 'mother' in equal measure - this relates to how important the A'nia is to their domain. The domain is their dream, so to speak, a place they design and a place whose inhabitants are born by their thoughts and emotions


• It should be noted that the key difference between a deity and an A'nia is that the A'nia cannot grant spells, nor can they indirectly influence places outside of their dreams, they gain nothing by worship, nor can they give anything to their worshippers from afar, and their dreams collectively make up the fae realm; they don't have their own true outer planes


• Each domain can be vastly different from the next - you can have an A'nia of winter, an A'nia of summer, and really any other kind of possibility. This is a Wyld realm, where nothing can be taken for granted because no one dream dominates their reality


• If I figure out more of their language, their world would have the name that translated to something like 'the realm of dreams'


• This world is where the majority of the magic of Audalis has left to, resulting in a place with an excess of magic - feats otherwise impossible in Audalis are not impossible in the dreams, pending the imagination of the A'nia whose domain the feat is attempted in


• The A'nia are not entirely disconnected from Audalis - the fairy rings are their way of investigating Audalis, sending lesser fae forth to learn of the world beyond their dreams, and perhaps to see if they might return to walk that land once more, or to learn how they might do so


• The A'nia that guards the islands varies, but all are content with dreaming of water rather than land; the mist of that particular location indicates where the boundary between Audalis and their realm is weak


• The fae creatures in the monster manual don't necessarily belong to a single A'nia - just as creativity is shared among works, these creatures are more common because they are in more dreams, known to the A'nia for their greater resilience to Audalis


• Fae creatures in general cannot survive in Audalis for a prolonged period of time; they are magical creatures entering a world devoid of the magic in the environment, and they will deplete their magical essence by persisting
  
  
  
  • Certain fae creatures may work around that limitation by creating particular arrangements suitable for their longevity, usually on the 'other side' of highly reflective surfaces, such as high quality gems, lakes or mirrors, and by leeching life or magical energy of other beings
  
  
  • Whether a fae creature leaves a body or not in Audalis is best handled on the case by case; I'd rather not stifle the needs of any particular GM's story where fae are concerned
  
  
  
  


• Similarly, an Audalian that consumes food (not necessarily water, but that's almost a splitting hairs level of detail) of the dreams gets imbued with magical essence, which turns foul and rotten if they leave the dreams and return to Audalis, typically resulting in death

I'm drawing heavily on inspiration where the fae are as beautiful as they can be terrible, benevolent or malevolent by their whim... these thoughts and ideas are subject to change before I write up a proper draft to put forward for the Audalis entries but this is what I have started with

Page 11

The script is very untidy Sylvari, as written by a shaking hand. At points it's nearly illegible.

Dear gods. I can never go back. Martin's dead. They keep calling me Windbell.

I need to pull myself together. I need to

If I could stop having my quill stolen while I'm writing that would be a good start. Fireblossom keeps trying to get my attention, by any means necessary. Snowbell has decided my head is comfortable to sit on and is amusing herself with trying to read what I'm writing. Lightbloom is watching me intently, I think with a worried expression, keeps suggesting I eat more. The way he's talking you'd think I was starved, but we only just ran out of food.

Why do I know their names? How can I understand them? How can they understand me?

I just, I can't.

Waterpetal arrived with a message. Someone they call Theanya(?) wants to see me. By their reactions, it's someone very important.

Dear gods, what is happening?

Page 12, 13 and 14

There are no quill markings on the page at all, only ink, generally neatly formed into Sylvari script, but there are clear splatters where emotion overrode the concentration to make formal text.

I can't believe this works. Decades without being able to cast a spell, but now, here, I write with neither tool nor ink. No wonder the sprites were so amused by my writing earlier. It's archaic to where it is completely foreign and unknown to them.

... Where do I even start trying to wrap my head around what has happened? I guess the beginning of when things went bad. We had tried to spread out our food intake as much as we could, make it last. Then we arrived here, in A'nia Starflower's domain.

Windbell's home.

The sprites came to us. They seemed... very enthusiastic about seeing me. Martin, not so much, and he began to suspect me for leading us here. I could not blame him. We stopped here at my suggestion, and he couldn't understand the sprites even if I could, nor could he understand the words I directed at the sprites. He had every reason to be suspicious, and his hunger only added to his temper. I was only able to prevent complete hostilities by telling the sprites and Martin that he was my guest here, and explained he was hungry.

The sprites were confused at the problem, and told me to make some food, like it were the easiest thing to do, and were equally baffled at my confusion on how to do it. They seemed very concerned for me, worried about my health - and what they presumed to be memory loss. Concerned for Windbell anyway - they would not call me by any other name.

Somehow I managed to do it, and a bush sprouted bearing blooms of pastries I had been craving since departing the Sylvari kingdoms. Many of the sprites shared in the food, finding it delightfully foreign to them. I had one piece, and Martin had another. It was exactly as I remembered it, if not better, with a strange sense of nourishment that I cannot recall the like of.

With that done, I asked the sprites about returning him to Sylvari. They replied that was a more complicated matter, but a gate was actually possible right now, and once again gave me an expectant look. I tried, but nothing happened, and Lightbloom shook his head noting how frail I looked to them. Fireblossom opened a gate before our eyes, a sphere like a water droplet folding in on itself and bursting into a luminescant column that opened to somewhere in the Sylvari forest.

Far beyond done with this place, Martin went through with no hesitation. I was just about to follow him when I saw him double over on the other side in pain not four paces from the gate. I saw him collapse, twisting in agony as Fireblossom closed the gate. Seeing that happen to him, I just knew that the same thing would happen to me. I was panicked after that, and at some point Waterpetal had left to tell the A'nia about what had happened. I met with her in this building floating above the lake of mist, something between a castle and a cathedral, beautiful, but eerie. The front doors opened to a large central chamber, with a raised platform like a ballroom stage, columns and stairs to either side leading to places that aren't visible from the outside.

The A'nia... I've no idea how to translate the title. It's loosely somewhere between ruler, dreamer, and... mother?

Like the others, she called me Windbell as well, but where the sprites are creatures no larger than a Cidal, she was taller than me. She seemed serene, floating in place with beautiful wings providing contrast to the stained glass behind her. She welcomeed me back to her domain, her flower field, and expressed her hope that the other sprites, my siblings, were not overbearing with me. With gentle smile she suggested I take some time to myself to rest and recover, directing me to take one of the stairs. I thanked her as I expected I should, and she smiled as I ascended the stairs. I found this bedroom waiting for me. Everything is the right size for me, despite no one else here seeming to be my size.

It looks a bit like my old bedroom. I try not to think about that.

If I think too much, I think that, somehow, it felt as though her smile wasn't entirely gentle. There seemed a hint of cold to it. Maybe it just my nerves meeting such an important being here in a realm... a realm that doesn't seem to have rules, but has rulers nonetheless. And if I think too much...

I think... I think she knows what happened to Windbell.

I'm trying not to think about it.