#gelmorra

I'm also told that other kinds of families have a sort of expectation that their children, at a proper age, set out on their own. I only heard that sort of thing in faerie tales. It was all very dramatic to me, at the time— it always had a fancy name like "leaving the nest" or somesuch. How foreign.

I'll be honest, dear reader— I was not the brightest child. Not well-suited to practical physical labor, nor crafting pomanders, nor any particular field of study. Daydreamer. Sick. Et cetera. I liked faerie tales. They felt about as real as the rest of it, to me.

So, what's something only a dull child who likes faerie tales would do? I asked my grandmother, the once-great Radegonde Calumistre, if I could leave.

"You wish to flee to the surface, where we are so clearly despised? This is the only home for us. It has been our home for hundreds of years. If you leave, know well you can never come back. If you abandon this place, the Gridanians who walk over our heads will spurn you, shun you, and bury their dead where you used to sleep. Is that what you want, Isolée?"

I can only approximate the words; it was a long time ago, now. Only the venom is still there.

It wasn't as though Grandmother was a monster, or anything. She helped us live. I remember, on one of my namedays (maybe my tenth? Thirteenth? I haven't the foggiest) she talked some Keepers that lived nearby into getting us a jar of honey. I was so scared of wasting it, I put only a drop in my frumenty. Oh, she was incensed. Something like "I work myself to bones, and you refuse to eat the stuff?! Two more spoonfuls!"

It makes me want to laugh, thinking back on it, but back then I was so confused. I remember feeling like I always was, about everything.

I remember toad legs and dried plums. Fermented mun-tuy. Mushrooms roasted over fire.

This nameday was the first time I told most of the Scions where I'm from. Lyse and others more familiar with the Shroud weren't surprised, but the twins were shocked that there are still a few settlements in the ruins. I made everybody guess at what age I first saw the sun. Everyone was way off until Yugiri finally got it. Ten and nine. I thought the reaction to that was somewhat excessive, but I guess that's partially on me for giving it a dramatic set-up.

When the rest trickled out, Thancred and I had a drink. He may be one of the only people on this star I trust to pour me anything. I miss him when he's gone.

We shared our own stories, quieter ones, the kinds you don't tell around a table. He talked about Minfilia. The early days with Ryne. Times before that, times when he was alone. He talked about Papalymo. I wasn't as close to Papalymo as the other Scions, but I cared for him, and I have a little scar on my stomach to show for it. I showed Thancred. He laughed, and then he wept.

I talked about Zenos yae Galvus, about seeing my face reflected in his and wanting to vomit. His blood, red on the pink flowers. The colors clashed so horribly.

I tried to talk about the light-poisoning, but my throat closed up. Thancred knows how it feels to have your body betray you.

We went through lists of both our dead, and drank to each and every one. Once we were well and truly inebriated, we confessed things; our tiny childish fears, our stupid hopes, everything we didn't know how to explain. For his sake, I will not repeat what he told me, and I've already written my worst. I needn't repeat myself.

I've rambled on quite long enough. The writing has served its purpose in distracting me from this murderous hangover. My apologies for any ink smudges; it's early enough that the light is yet low, and my hand is unsteady besides.

I have no philosophical revelations, no sage closing remarks for you, but I have sentiment to spare; overflowing, sappy sentiment.