II

They say that a man reaches for many things, but achieves few.

Aerie put her quill down and frowned. The master's wisdom was a thing she included atop every page. A new entry, a new saying. The manuscript was filled with anecdotes, some of his childhood, others of what followed. She hesitated. She didn't like to stray from the truth, but she couldn't help but feel she hadn't written enough. Lying by omission was still a lie.

What is the nature of a man?

She didn't like that question. It was one her lord had pondered on often, or so he claimed. She had no reason to disbelieve him. Tentatively, she leafed back. The manuscript had yet to be illuminated, but she had left space for the gold lettering and the border. Four gems already adorned the heavy cover, sealing it with wards she could not breach. Two of blood, two of tears. She sighed softly. He was beautiful. A portrait page stared back. Perfectly sculpted, marble skin, strong eyes, noble jaw, compassionate lips. How lips could be compassionate she wasn't sure… but his were. Perhaps it was his expression. It took her a moment before she could turn the page. Closing her eyes, she remembered how they had met.

She stood in awe. In tattered rags, wingless and dirty, a fallen avariel, still chained by heavy manacles. Two heads taller, he was built broadly, possessing a lithe-catlike grace she saw amongst her forest-dwelling kin. Robed as simply as his acolytes, his gaze held pity and acceptance, and her bonds fell to the flagstone floor. As if wandering a dream, she stared wide-eyed. His smile was slight, gentle. She could never forget his words.

"You are free."

Tears formed, and she shook. Unable to look, she lowered her head. As she did, something washed over her. A feeling of peace, coolness. A balm. Her sores closed up, her wounds healed. The shaking stopped. She sank to her knees and stared up at him. In that moment, her life was his. Into her hands, he entrusted a tear, his own. She felt his power as it solidified, and gasped at its radiance, its beauty.

"Child."

She swallowed.

That day changed her life forever. The day his followers had come for her. She since learned his reputation, but not his name. Names were something he seldom used, believing in their power. Words, he said, were the manifestation of will, holding the power to create and destroy. They should never be used lightly. She believed him. Later, she questioned him on the nature of his beliefs. His eyes had held her, smiling their indulgence, and he had told her a tale of love, loss, lust and passion. After that, he had set a quill in her hand, and as surprise silenced her, he offered her his great commission. The undertaking would be long, but he believed she was right for it.

That night, she did not rest but stared at the quill in her lap. Alone in her cell, she wondered at her former life, and why she was here. A complex of stone, of round rooms and pillars, corridors and halls, it could have been a tomb. Instead, it was a monastery far removed from any life she knew. The silence had unnerved her at first, but then she had come to appreciate it. Tranquillity settled on the musty air, and though the enclosed walls had terrified her, she was lulled by the place's peace. It was almost like an aura, a blanket that covered the complex, but also settled inside of her, around her. She gladly spoke the words after that.

Turning to another page, she wet her lips and tried to hold back from welling eyes. Her fingers rested on another portrait, a figure of light and one of shadow. The first was proud, male, and filled the left of the page. The second, female, was lithe, side on. She was beautiful, in spite of her shadowed features. There was a feline quality to her, a tail. Ears, so like the avariel's own, claws and horns, scales like spots, or spots like scales, a midnight blue and black onyx hair. His wings reached past her, his chest unclad and waist belted. Severity rested heavy in his gaze, and from it, judgement.

Her fingertips brushed their features. In her panel was night, and she crouched, her tail rising. Hers was a wary stare, holding quiet pride and strength. Somehow, there was a softness, as if the artist could not bear to depict them together. To the right, a second pane. A babe enshrouded. A being of darkness and light. Her mother's tail, her father's wings. A face of beauty. Below it, a young woman, grown. A hood and long robe, a different sort of shroud. Outlined features, quiet beauty, smooth faced and serene. Her mother's wisdom, her father's strength. A darkness, a shadow to the left; a dead god. Between them and set a little lower, a circular pane. Another babe.

Aerie shivered again.