A Mirror, So Silver, So Exact
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What of the gnawing in thine holy gut, the rage clawing up thine throat? A great weight, inclined to tip the scales once more. Which way shalt thou cast it?
When you had nothing else, caged in darkness, you learned to cultivate your anger like the finest of crops. And yet there seems to be so little for you to reap.
The Nightsong is no more and Dame Aylin is returned to her most holy duties. Isobel Thorm is free of her grave. How they handle their past, present, and future is, perhaps, up to them.
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- Part 1 of A Mirror, So Silver, So Exact
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There is a part of Aylin still in that cage. There is a part of you still in that grave.
From that night of your coming-of-age ritual when you astounded all of Reithwin with the uncanny speed of your return from the woods, to your desperate flight away from your own grave, one thing has remained true. The guidance was granted, no matter the harshness or difficulty of the path. But it has always, always been up to you to walk it.
The brilliant, defiant Beacon of Last Light many revere from afar. Isobel Thorm they do not know at all.
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- Part 2 of A Mirror, So Silver, So Exact