An old gryphon’s return.

[whiteferrarii 123]

 

She sat at her desk within the Abbey, eyes watching as artisans meandered in and out of the Johannesburg gates. Dressed in flamboyant colours and ambling on with a skip in their step, she longed for her youth when her hair was still golden and skin was not pale. Brushing aside the waves of grey-yellow that ran down shoulders, she continued to write the play of the Dragon and the Crow. With a mottled hand, she dipped her quill into the vial of ink and continued write. Yet it wasn’t good enough. The content was too… poor. Her mind was elsewhere, in a place where her family was still alive and her happiness was still existent.

 

She had returned to Oren in search of an Imperial Pardon. In the years of her absence, she watched as familiar houses fell, and foreign families rose, friendly faces rotted away, and evil ones beamed. Shrouded in shadows, her hair grew grey and her skin grew wrinkled. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault. Yet somewhat, she knew she had failed her family. Her sons, her daughters, her husband. All torn away from those she despised.

 

Her cousin had disowned her in fear of her children. They were the product of the Horen-Vimmark lineage. She resented him for that, and when they died, the hatred boiled over. Watching from afar as she always did, she saw that Richard fell far from his ‘ducal grace.’ His blood continued on, and they grew more and more disliked. Still watching, she found herself in amidst a war that the Stauntons simply could not win. As the crow flag was raised, she allowed a soft smile to spread across her lips. Dipping her head, she stepped back into the shadows, waiting. Watching.

 

She was standing in a winter village, accompanied by a woman with fiery red hair when she heard the news of her daughter’s death. Crying, she turned to see Estelle dressed in her black armour. No, she thought. Why did she stand pleased in her life, with two swaddling babes and a loving husband? Turning away, she left. She left Carnatia and she left Vailor.

 

A dark figure zoomed overhead as the aging woman continued to write. Lifting her eyes, she saw a golden glint in the grasp of the darkness, and felt her breath get caught within her throat. At last, she gasped and finally registered the thunderous beating of the monster’s wings. Dropping her quill, she stood up and pushed in her chair. Father Ambroso stood behind her, face pale and hands shaky.

In her time of absence, she found herself wallowing in the darkness of her mind. Being beaten by the demons that thrashed about in her head. She was a coward to run. She was a coward for not staying and protecting them, her sweet, sweet children. Striding out of the Abbey she began the ascent to the Johannesburg gates.

 

No more vibrant artisans flaunted their youth and riches upon those steps. It was only her.

 

She was greeted by a bell when she approached the imperial palace. Shoved into the parchment, it almost seemed like the Aesterwaldi artefact had been thrown into the ground. Men and women gathered about the glimmering monument, lips agape and eyes wide. There, she saw Vivien Vimmark, and felt a pang of anguish, relief and pain hit her heart.

 

There, in amongst the chaos, Cassandra Vimmark realised she was not the last of her kin.

 

Receiving a pardon by the Emperor, Cassandra became the lady tutor of Anna Jrent. She was given a place within the country, and she was given a purpose to her people. Sitting at her desk within the palace, she continued to write. Cassandra longed for the day her son returned home.

 

[Wendigo 786]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.