Puppeteer
Prologue
It is autumn in Kurain. The day is relatively pleasant; slightly overcast, breezy, and cool, but not uncomfortably so. In a small garden near the edge of the village, a woman is sitting with her two young daughters, talking with them and looking towards the sky. The smaller of the two girls seems more interested in the leaves on the ground than her mother's words, but the other girl is listening with rapt attention, nodding at every pause.
If you were walking by this garden in Kurain, you might glance at them, smile, and continue on your merry way. If you were in the garden, perhaps reading, and catching a phrase every now and then, you might stop and wonder why this woman is speaking so seriously to her daughters; they don't look like they could be more than four or five years old, and you're sure that at that age, you wouldn't understand a word of what the woman sitting with her daughters is saying. Still, you might shrug and go back to your book. Perhaps they are particularly intelligent.
If you were the taller of the girls, the one whose eyes, young though they are, hold a determined fire that would startle you in a child four times her age, you would know that even though you don't truly understand all of what your mother is saying, it is important, and you must listen and remember what she is saying nonetheless. You would glare at your sister, who is not listening, instead looking at and picking up colorful leaves on the ground, and want to hit her. Is she stupid? Does she not understand that what your mother is telling you is important? You would narrow your eyes at your twin sister, and continue to listen. You hear of the future and of your destiny, and though your mother does not say it, you hear hints of what you know will be your success.
Because some things she is saying are confusing, you keep phrases and words in your head to remember and figure out later, and as you listen, you try to think past the long words and description your mother is giving you, to get at the heart of what she is saying. You calculate, you reason.
Your sister is playing with leaves.
Your name would be Dahlia Fey, and your sister would be Iris. You would know that you are better than her, your sister who understands nothing of the importance of destiny and power. You admit to yourself that in all reality, neither do you, but you are paying (fierce) attention; you are at least trying to understand. You know that you will understand. Your mother, Morgan Fey, is taking this extremely seriously, and you would like nothing more than to prove your worth to her. Your sister, your foolish, ignorant sister, who will never become what you will become, is not listening. She is smiling and looking at the colored leaves on the ground. She leans over and picks up the ones that look out of place as you walk through the garden, lost in her own world.
You would glare at her. But you know that she does not (cannot?) understand, and so you smile, and continue listening to your mother's words.