Taking Flight

[comatoseprincess 507]

 

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Taking Flight

 

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The 11th of Sun’s Smile, 249 SA

 

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As the strength of the wind changes from gentle breeze through stone-walled streets to the billowing sand-storms of the south, the heart journeys through choices never once considered before.

 

My journey as a Rostova has been a testing and trying one. I have seen wars wherein friends and family clash steel with steel, fighting for a side which were once united. My place of birth felled, conquered and abolished. My family, shattered.

The passing of my father was the first foundation in which to break. Then came the loss of my first husband. The wall was shattering, my grip on my family and its heritage waning with each passing breath.

 

But now I stand anew, refreshed and revitalized, and it is with that notion I make this claim.

 

I, Alysanna Maya Rostova, renounce my Rostova name, and any titles that may be inherited or claimed. My children, not of de Alencar or of de Sylva past and present, may lay claim to the titles and heritage save for my eldest, Mirabella Helena Anastasia Rostova. 

 

In place, My husband, children and I take the name of de Sylva. With it, we shall begin our own journey, write new stories and forge a new heritage of which I believe my children will be proud to look upon. 

 

This change does not come easily but at forty years of age, it is now my time to do what I wish. To stride ahead, head held high, knowing that I gave my all to my beginnings and now, will do the same to my future.

 

Now is the time for change.

Now is the time for my life to begin.

 

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Signed,

 

Alysanna Maya de Sylva,

Matriarch of House de Sylva

 

 

[jqsmlne 460]

Beneath the straggling canopy of stars sat a girl upon a bench out of stone, cold she was, quiet even more. Once surrounded, now alone. 

 

Titles of the past had fallen, halls once bustling now stood empty, and a family a young princess once clung to had begun to wither into memory.

 

Cold hands held the parchement, trembling, until finally the girl stood . Her skirt brushed against the cobbled stones, dust scattering beneath her step. The chime of heel against marble echoed through the empty keep. 

 

Mirabella passed many rooms before she reached her own. Her departed uncles' chambers. Her aunts'. Her father's. All quiet all still, all untouched. The missive lingered on the bench outside, abandoned to the night.

 

While others gave up, she did not. While others scattered the ashes, from the ash she rose.