The Tale of Mirielle nò Valerian
_1_______
I know that I was born to the service of Naamah. My mother, Hannah, who died birthing me: once a noblewoman of Namarre. My father, René, an adept of Night-Blooming Heliotrope. There was little else for me but to stay among the Night Court, for my father had no relatives beyond me; I, to this day, am the last of his line.
I inherited my father's looks, mostly. We share the same straight, sunshine golden hair, the same willowy frame, and the same leaf-green eyes. But I have a smattering of freckles across my cheeks in the summer, and the same pale, delicate skin as my mother.
From my birth, I was fostered in Heliotrope House. The sunny, golden looks I had inherited are the hallmark of Heliotrope, and it was hoped that my skin would darken as I grew, to be a considerable boon to my House.
It was not to be.
For one, my skin is still as pale today as the day I was born. For another: when I was nearly ten, the time of my House lessons to begin, I discovered my nature, in a similar way to the Comtesse de Montrève. It is my sincere honour to have been in her presence more than once in my life, for she is the Servant of Naamah whom I admire most of all. I will speak on her at length in time.
I tried to procure a drinking glass from the kitchen. It was summertime, and hot. I merely wanted a drink of water, any nearby adepts being either asleep or tending to other business. No one heard me slip out to the kitchen.
Everyone heard what happened next.
On the way back from the kitchen, I tripped. My glass fell to the floor and shattered. I kneeled beside the pieces, shocked. What I did next, I could not explain to the Dowayne of Heliotrope House. I placed my hand, palm-down, amid the shattered glass. I marveled at the sensation, and at the red specks that adorned my palm. I think I had never really bled until that day. I have bled several times since, and I will bleed again.
The Second, who was now on scene, took me by the hand to the Dowayne. Alain Bellefleur, the Dowayne of Heliotrope House, pulled me close to him and looked into my face directly. When his emerald eyes stared into mine, he looked to me like an angry Kushiel. Then his look turned to one of compassion, and he pulled back. I was not prepared for what came next.
The Dowayne struck me.
He struck me twice across the face, with heavy palm, and I teetered over, falling to the floor. A Dowayne is skilled at reading the reactions of his adepts, and at that moment, he knew where I belonged. My breathing heavy, I looked back up at Alain Bellefleur. And he spoke curtly to me. "Pack your belongings. Tomorrow you leave for Valerian House."
_1_______
I know that I was born to the service of Naamah. My mother, Hannah, who died birthing me: once a noblewoman of Namarre. My father, René, an adept of Night-Blooming Heliotrope. There was little else for me but to stay among the Night Court, for my father had no relatives beyond me; I, to this day, am the last of his line.
I inherited my father's looks, mostly. We share the same straight, sunshine golden hair, the same willowy frame, and the same leaf-green eyes. But I have a smattering of freckles across my cheeks in the summer, and the same pale, delicate skin as my mother.
From my birth, I was fostered in Heliotrope House. The sunny, golden looks I had inherited are the hallmark of Heliotrope, and it was hoped that my skin would darken as I grew, to be a considerable boon to my House.
It was not to be.
For one, my skin is still as pale today as the day I was born. For another: when I was nearly ten, the time of my House lessons to begin, I discovered my nature, in a similar way to the Comtesse de Montrève. It is my sincere honour to have been in her presence more than once in my life, for she is the Servant of Naamah whom I admire most of all. I will speak on her at length in time.
I tried to procure a drinking glass from the kitchen. It was summertime, and hot. I merely wanted a drink of water, any nearby adepts being either asleep or tending to other business. No one heard me slip out to the kitchen.
Everyone heard what happened next.
On the way back from the kitchen, I tripped. My glass fell to the floor and shattered. I kneeled beside the pieces, shocked. What I did next, I could not explain to the Dowayne of Heliotrope House. I placed my hand, palm-down, amid the shattered glass. I marveled at the sensation, and at the red specks that adorned my palm. I think I had never really bled until that day. I have bled several times since, and I will bleed again.
The Second, who was now on scene, took me by the hand to the Dowayne. Alain Bellefleur, the Dowayne of Heliotrope House, pulled me close to him and looked into my face directly. When his emerald eyes stared into mine, he looked to me like an angry Kushiel. Then his look turned to one of compassion, and he pulled back. I was not prepared for what came next.
The Dowayne struck me.
He struck me twice across the face, with heavy palm, and I teetered over, falling to the floor. A Dowayne is skilled at reading the reactions of his adepts, and at that moment, he knew where I belonged. My breathing heavy, I looked back up at Alain Bellefleur. And he spoke curtly to me. "Pack your belongings. Tomorrow you leave for Valerian House."