In my years of walking in these lands, I've never met a person with such myth behind their names as our dear Madama. Many from Suvalkia to the Duchy of Rulan have interacted with her but with a different name every time. Plenty have much to offer in regard to how she came to be and who she is but every story is different from the the rest, yet they all claim to know what really happened. I shall leave here the testimonies I've gathered of her existence: while they often contradict one another, I fully believe they delignate the type of person our dear Madama is, and thus, prove that she breathes and lives just like the rest of us.

𝓜𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓪 𝓓𝓸𝓻𝓮'

The Appearance

ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ɢʀᴏᴡɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ. ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟʏ ᴘᴀʟʟɪᴅ, ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴅʀᴀᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ʟᴏɴᴇ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ;
ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴄᴜʀᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ʀᴇᴍɪɴɪɴɢ ᴇʏᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖 - 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚍, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝
𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠.
𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜.

The Journey

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ.
ᴀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱᴍɪᴛʜ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪɴᴇ ʜɪᴛ, ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ɢᴏᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪᴄᴋ
ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛ ᴘᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴛʜɪᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴀꜰʟᴏᴀᴛ. ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏʙ ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴇᴡᴇʟᴇʀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴋʀᴏᴛʜᴏɴ.
ʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ'ᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ʜɪᴍꜱᴇʟꜰ, ᴛʜᴇɴ...
ᴛʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ. ᴘᴏᴏʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪꜱ.
ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ꜱᴀᴡ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ​​

𝒲𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓃𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒
𝑜𝒻 𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈.


 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓃.
𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝒶𝒻𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓂, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃.
𝒲𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒿𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇,
𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓊𝓈,
𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓊𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒶𝒹𝓎.

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘥. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳: 𝘸𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘺.
𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 - 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭,
𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭,
𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳; 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 
𝘞𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩'𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘴

𝙸'𝚖 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎.
𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚎
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑: 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢.
𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝;
𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕.
[...]
𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜: 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛, 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.


𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛,
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

The Hair
The Eye

​

ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴜꜰꜰʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇ

𝘈𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 - 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘸:
𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.
 
𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴, [...]
𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩.

𝚄𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚎, 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚟𝚎,
𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛.
𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚢𝚎.

The Way She is

​​ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ:
ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ!
ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʜᴀʟꜰ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ, ᴜɴꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪꜰ ꜱʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ - [...] ɪ’ᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ
ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇʏᴀʀᴅꜱ, ʙʀɪɴɢɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇꜱ ꜱʜᴇ’ᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ.
ꜱʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ɢᴜᴇꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜱ ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ:
ꜱʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ɴᴏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ.

𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝒸𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒶 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃.
𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒽𝑒𝓇,
𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝓇𝓊𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇. [...] 𝒜𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈,
𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝒻 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓀𝓎 𝒾𝓉𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻.

𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈, 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝐵𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂𝓈, 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜'𝒸𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒥𝒶𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝓇,
𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝓇.

𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝑜𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓃𝑜𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒽𝑒𝓇.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦,
𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴.
𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜?
𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎.
𝙸𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎.

The Magic of it all

ꜱʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏʀᴀᴄʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ꜰᴏʟᴋꜱ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘɪᴛʏ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ,
ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴏʀᴇ

𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽.

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦.

𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚌,
𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚘𝚒𝚍𝚜.

I leave this footnote to voice my own opinion on the woman. For what little time I've known her, she wasn't the passive character these stories try to paint. She fought much, moved of her own volition and never did it feel like she truly depended on others. For this, my grandest wish is for these stories to be replaced by one of her own, told by her words, of her own experiences, for her history to become her own.

- A.W.

Yes, she had the power to create as well! Not just see!
She creates from nothing, and what she makes is of the highest value.

And today, a new connection was made!
Two lines met and became one! Two hands held and became so much more. Two stories intertwined.

Méabh: Home, Friend, Heart.

When I first met Ridalna upon that Valley     Meave is a soft creature, one made of care   
stream, I thought her a woman equal parts     above all else. She holds the other in great 
beautiful and haunting. My opinion has not    mind, worries about me still despite my      
changed -- if anything, its deepened. Yet,    reassurances. She is indeed the kind to be   
despite this duality, I should like to        perplexed by the presence of a rose: is      
believe she is a good woman. She unsettles    pruning the thorns an act of kindness        
me at times. There is an air about her: she   towards others or violence upon another? To  
practices benevolence, she tends to hearts    host a stranger such as myself in the        
with a healer’s gentleness, and yet... she    circumstances I've come to learn of the      
carries something within her, dimmed behind   Spire - she's above all, a brave being. Like 
her stony eye. Perhaps it is merely the       many before her, my heart is theirs and      
nature of her amnesia; how can one ever       every wish they have, it is my personal duty 
truly know her? People are eager to assign    to follow. If she needs me, I'll be there,   
meaning to others, eager to project their     but alas... I know your kind very well,      
ideals or fears onto whatever surface is      mi-dear Maeve. Help is not something one     
most convenient. But the Madama, being        offers in passing - for how brave you are,   
unanchored from her past, stands slightly     you'll never be brave enough to ask when the 
apart from all those expectations. It         time comes. Let it be known then, for I      
renders her both vulnerable and omniscient.   serve no one other than my heart, and my     
I'm rambling. I would consider her a friend.  heart wishes to return the favour and care.  
                                              Pray, let me heal yours wounds, mi-friend.   
                                              Be brave, even more: soar those perplexities.
                                              You are my first and only pillar.

Both parts curious and intriguing. She seems  An unfortunate past, or perhaps a very       
to have long accepted loss and learned to     fortunate one - whichever it may be, it has  
cope. We are similar, but so different...     clearly left you hurt, mi-dear Lena. You     
she seems to mean well, which just makes      wear layers upon layers of invisible armour, 
everything about her even more strange...     hide your true skin under cloth, and make    
Why would a 'good person' know so much about  clever use of the guise of deafness. You     
manipulation? Why would she want to share     think more than you speak, too naïve to let  
that knowledge with me? And why someone that  your shield down to reach for what truly     
seems so disconnected from her own self seem  matters. Unaware you may be, and yet your    
so in tune at the same time? She is amusing.  blood is warm as that of many: your only     
Full of buried conflict. I'll watch her with  true wish is kindness. I'll teach you both   
great interest, and I know she will be        wisdom and kindness, allow you to become     
watching me.                                  proper, mi-dear.                             

Hmmmm... A mystery I can't unravel. She's     A woman of the cold, and like many other     
kindhearted, and trustworthy, but difficult   people of the cold, her embrace is how she   
to understand in any form. I'm glad she has   asks for warmth. A pure heart, a warm thing, 
so many who hold her dear, I hope she'll be   kept frozen by the mind, by the past. Unable 
alright. We're meant to have a tea party      of moving forward, you've stopped, mi-dear   
eventually, after all.                        Grimshaw, for you listen to the words of     
                                              others but barely feel confident to hear     
                                              your own. I was once in the same position,   
                                              unaware and unsure of the endless            
                                              possibilities before me: I've broken that    
                                              branch and became myself. You need to become 
                                              more, not less, mi-dear. Allow me to stoke   
                                              that heart of yours, so you may find warmth  
                   in your own being.

And this as well!

Woah!!!
2 More "relationship"...
That's triple the amount it had before.