Author's Note

I wasn't going to do this but I am.

To the person/people who left a string of anonymous reviews on this story and This Darkness Is The Light, I have published some of your less stupid comments so others can marvel at them. Also I think you could have said your piece in simply one review. Perhaps exercise some restraint next time.

So, normally I don't deign to respond to this rot, but this time I am, so count yourself honoured, anon. Fun Fact: I actually left Tumblr because of this BS. On here I usually have to deal with this crap on mostly my TWD and GoT fic, so I'm not new to this rodeo, especially as of late with the deluge of anon abuse and private PMs from ghost accounts I got for Goodnight Love. If you were part of that, anon, well done!

In response to your inane arguments, let me begin by saying I write because I have an idea I want to explore. I don't write for view counts, followers or reviews. As for your vitriol on the fan-fiction I follow - I only follow/favourite stories I PERSONALLY like and want to read so sorry if somehow you feel scorned if they don't happen to be one of yours if that's the issue. There is no ulterior motive behind it and it's not meant to slight anyone and I'm not sure how it would anyways. The stories I like span a range of fandoms and I don't just read so called 'popular' fic by 'popular people' as you have accused. I don't even know where that one came from, or what that's meant to imply. Plus you seem to have a problem with how I interact with an audience. What that has to do with you, I don't know. I make a concerted effort to respond to people's questions, reviews and fic/video requests, either privately or publicly on YouTube, etc. But sometimes this takes time or the notification doesn't come through yet you think I should drop everything at once to answer right away, lickety-split. Also according to you, I have way too many stories and original characters going on. That's my problem, not yours, anon.

And finally, I never misconstrue constructive criticism as abuse. Over the years, I've had a few nasty reviews dressed up as constructive criticism and I've had real, genuine, balanced feedback which has helped my writing, so I think I know the difference, anon. A lot of what you said seems to be coming from somewhere quite personal so I am assuming we have somehow crossed swords before, albeit unwittingly on my part.

However your main axe to grind, anon, seems to be over my SaB stuff and everything else is simply just another knife to stick in. I didn't change my user name to hide it was me reposting it. This is my original account but I changed my user name several times over the years because I simply didn't like the old one anymore. If I want to change it again, I will. I'll resurrect my old SaB stories, one-shots and original characters if I please. If you didn't like them then, nobody's asking you to like them now. Plus I WILL create new content as well, OCs and all simply because I CAN and I'm not 'jumping on a bandwagon' as you put it because the Netflix series is coming out. And if you consider my work 'truncated sh*te' and other people's OCs and content in the SaB fandom as 'comparatively superior - then and now', fair dos.

Moreover I didn't 'do us all a favour' by taking my SaB work down in the first place. I took it down originally because I wasn't happy with it – I was writing for a fandom based on a book series, when I usually work from a visual medium like a TV series etc – and I wasn't happy with the results. So again I will revise, rewrite and repost as much as I want.

As for telling me not to 'aspire' to be a published author, sorry been there and done that.

That is all, anon.

Here is another Lillianna chapter for your delectation.

Happy reading!

A Bird In A Gilded Cage

She knelt behind the log, the battered rifle heavy in her hand. It had been her grandfather's, Kirill teaching her so long ago how to use it. Eyes wide, she watched the wolf lope across the snow, its white fur gleaming in the moonlight. She was the depths of a lake in winter. Nothing stirred her surface. Yet the hairs stood up on the back of her neck regardless, dread dragging its fingers down her spine. As the fear swept through her, the wolf suddenly raised its head, its wild quartz grey gaze finding hers –

Lillianna shot upright, chest heaving, breath ragged. She glanced wildly around her, the smell of pine sharp in the air, only to see red velvet hangings and oaken posts instead of skeletal trees. Her fingers gripped silk sheets instead of snow. She collapsed back against the lace trimmed pillows, closing her eyes again. It had been a dream, only a dream. But as she told herself this, something flickered strangely beyond her eyelids, like something darting past a darkened doorway. Alarmed, she sat up again, clutching the bed-clothes to her chin, the shadows seeming to shift around her -

Then there was a loud crash, making Lillianna lose her head completely. "Who goes there!?" she screamed, bursting through the bed hangings, only to see a terrified young girl on her knees in front of the vast fireplace, with firewood and pinecones scattered across the polished stone floor from where she'd just dropped them, a wicker basket lying on its side beside her.

"What is all the commotion for?" Varvara exclaimed as she swept through the doorway, drawing her wrapper around her as she moved, her auburn curls falling down her back, making her look grotesquely girlish. Her own apartments led off from Lillianna's, connected by a series of sweeping arches, and whilst suitably grand, they lacked the luxury Lillianna's chambers possessed, something Varvara had been swift to notice. "You girl," she fired at the servant, impatiently gesturing with her hand at the mess, "what is the meaning of this?"

"I – I – I dropped my basket, Madame."

"I'm not talking about that," Varvara snapped at the servant, making Lillianna flinch, "I want to know why you are not attending to the fires in my chambers first."

"M-m-m-adame, I" –

-"Saints, don't you know who I am, girl!?"

"Varvara Katukov?" a silken voice suggested from the doorway, making Varvara whirl around, startled. A beautiful girl, a few years older than Lillianna, stood there, her arms forming a cradle across her chest, nursing a bundle of shining white fur. She wore an ivory kefta with gold cuffs, marking her out as a Grisha servant, the first Lillianna had seen since her arrival. She had long red hair that rippled down to her waist, and startling amber eyes, autumn's daughter in the flesh.

"And you are?" Varvara said coldly, arching an eyebrow. Grisha or not, this upstart was still a servant, and would be treated thus.

With a jerk of her head, the girl motioned for the otkazat'sya servant to leave, who did so gladly, her too large apron flapping as she fled. "I am Genya Safin," she then said, barely inclining her bright head, "or the Tailor."

"Then where were you last night?" Varvara demanded. "I was told you would be attending us upon our arrival."

"I am the Queen's Tailor."

"Apropos to what?"

"I am only at the royal family's disposal, Madame."

"You are at General Kirigan's."

"He made me a gift to the Queen, Madame," Genya reiterated, "which means I serve her above all others unless ordered otherwise."

"And General Kerigan ordered otherwise, girl."

"And I was ordered elsewhere last night, Madame."

"Who by?" Varvara scoffed. "The King!?"

"Yes, Madame."

At this, Varvara smiled strangely, a knowing light suddenly entering her eyes. "I hoped you served His Highness well, then," she said sweetly, startling Lillianna.

"On my knees, like a good subject," Genya said demurely, discomposing Varvara despite herself.

Recovering her wits, Varvara studied Genya, trying and failing to find the trick. "I want the fires in my chambers to be lit if not done already," she then ordered abruptly, drawing herself to her full height, "and then I wish to speak to you in my solar – alone."

"As you so desire, Madame."

"I do desire it."

"And so it will be done."

Varvara glared at her before making to turn on her heel and leave, only to freeze. "What is this?" she demanded, making to pluck the pile of white fur out of Genya's arms.

Genya artlessly evaded her, going over to where Lillianna sat half crouched on the mattress, eyes flung wide as the other girl approached her. "A… token of General Kirigan's regard," she said hesitantly, bowing her head as she presented his gift to Lillianna, who took it with some trepidation, something about Genya's suddenly uncertain manner scaring her.

"I asked what is that?" Varvara reiterated, coming over.

Against her will, Lillianna held it aloft, only for her heart to sink at seeing what it was, what it meant. Know your place. "It's a shuba, Mother," she then said, voice cracking.

"There is no need to look so tragic, rebe," Varvara frowned, running a critical eye over the shuba, "a woman can never have too many furs, especially furs such as these." She touched the pelt with the tip of her finger, greed suddenly flaring in her gaze, and then it was gone. "You are a lucky girl, Lillianna," she then said, tossing her hair back, "I don't think you know how fortunate you are to have such a man dancing attendance upon you." Without a backwards glance, she then left the room, the sound of her heels fading into the distance.

Lillianna looked down at the shuba she still held, before suddenly letting it go, where it would have fallen to the floor if Genya hadn't caught it. "Where is my own shuba?" she demanded, sounding like a querulous child, hearing echoes of Varvara in her voice.

Genya took the shuba from her, eyebrows raised at her tone. "Heed the warning, solnyshko," she said quietly, "and learn fast. Do not be like your mother, blind to the dangers before you."

Lillianna bit her lip, knowing she shouldn't be shocked, that she had been half expecting this ever since she'd arrived. She had travelled half away across Ravka in one of the Darkling's distinctive dark troikas, before meeting his own private equipage sent especially for their personal use, Lillianna wearing that shuba the whole way, flaunting her mother's folly for all to see. Yet… "I am not Grisha," she said slowly, finally voicing her own opinion rather than another's, "so therefore I assume I can wear any colour I please."

"Maybe so but not here, like this."

"And where is here exactly?"

"The Little Palace."

Lillianna stored away this sliver of information, before tilting her trembling chin. "Tell the Darkling I thank him for his generous gift," she then said through gritted teeth as she clambered off the bed, "but I can choose my own furs."

"Only his enemies call him the Darkling, solnyshko."

"Maybe that is what I am, then," Lillianna blurted out before she could stop herself, startling Genya. Then she turned and fled, escaping into the white and gold glory of her dressing room. But there was no freedom to be found there, Lillianna just a bird in a gilded cage. She was not the depths of a frozen lake after all. She was just a frightened girl who had been dealt a blow by an iron hand in a velvet glove.

And all because she had worn the colour of the sky.

Your mind is poisoned

Castles in the sky sit stranded, vandalized

The drawbridge is closing…