Role

Chapter 1

"Why are they covered like that, Lady Cordasia? Won't they have trouble breathing?"
When she didn't receive a reply right away, Lady Apsalareia Anaenya reached up, tugging at the skirt of her mother's gown. It was a calculated move, and Lady Cordasia did not disappoint.
Eyes of sky blue snapped down to her, and the ines of a fine frown marred the older elf's perfect visage.
"You do not grab and tug like some ruffian at play, Lady Apsalareia," she chastised in a hissed whisper. "You are a princess, it is your duty to behave as one."

Lady Apsalareia Anaenya was not, really, a princess. Second cousin to the Darsylon line, she was, at most, a Lady. This never seemed to register with her mother.
Apsalareia's eyes skipped from the procession before them, flitting across the nobility gathered to witness. If anything, she and her mother were dressed the most lavishly here, to the point where Apsalareia wished she could simply disappear.
It was always this way, even if all they had scheduled of a day was rest in their suites. Gowns without creases, hair without curls, jewels and tiara firmly in place. Impeccable.
She hated it, she truly did, but this was a low-burning hatred, one that had plenty of time to be crushed beneath forces such as upbringing and training. Now, it was simply habit, a mechanism on which her life turned.

When Apsalareia gave voice to her question again, it was with much more care. "Praytell, why are they covered so, Lady Cordasia? Verily they shall suffer the loss of breath?"
A sharp sigh slipped past her parent's lips, though she did answer. "They are slain, Lady Apsalareia, cut down by orcs or suchlike."
"Orcs, Lady Cordasia? I've never seen orcs within Darsylon, are you certain?"
Her mother pursed her lips. Apsalareia knew this to be the expression she wore when she disapproved most heavily. "They were fools and journeyed forth from our fair kingdom," she murmured. "Fools indeed, and look where it has taken them."

Over the following months, Apsalareia could not shake the image of those covered bodies from her head, the word fools echoing time and time again around her skull. "Why were they fools, Lady Cordasia?"
The question escaped her on a bright and sunny day, as they sat upon one of the palace's many balconies. "Whom are the fools, my princess," her mother asked.
"Why, the slain. Verily, you did call them fools." It was clear that unlike Apsalareia, Lady Cordasia had put the fallen elves out of her mind.
"Why does your mind linger on such things, my princess? It is a tragedy, and yet it is past. Praytell, have you laid eyes upon young Lord Lathuin? Does he please you?"
Apsalareia tilted her head, though within, she seethed at the dismissal. She would have her answers, one way or the other.
That procession, those deaths, had reached within her and found something long buried, and therein, they had kindled a spark. A frail, flickering spark, but a spark nevertheless.