Emma Wright, Micah Wright. By now it should not have been a surprise that the queen took every memory and pain inside her and held it out for her to see again. Everything that meant something to her. Aurora tensed a little, because these were children still here, no longer children. These were ones that Ayi’ig could harm as easily as she did the fey prisoners behind her if she truly wanted. With each word that the Queen spoke, dread crept up the fey’s core. The unshakeable feeling that her words and promises had a chance to be true, to be real. Aurora vowed it to the depths of her soul that it wouldn’t be, even then. But she was little more than a child in the face of little less than a god. She had no power to do more than watch in horror as the world slipped away into a few one. As Ayi’ig brought her to a place that was both heaven and hell, bliss and torture.
After all, there was perhaps no greater torture then to give happiness, then take it away. To dissolve all emotional walls and protection and allow for love and peace to grow, grow, grow and then turn into loss once more. Aurora was in panic and confusion for no more than perhaps a few minutes, at least that is for how long it felt. She had sense enough to collect herself for a bit, to rush towards the kitchen of the home and take a knife. With it she ignored the cries of those children as, with trembling hands, she carved out the letter ‘W’ into her arm. Wright. Wright. Wright. Remember Wright, remember your mistake, remember what you’d done in grief. Remember what had happened, what you’d endured. Without her magic, Aurora never would be able to heal the scar that grew there. But true to Ayi’ig’s word, a moment came when she could no longer remember what it was to fear war and grieve lost motherhood. When the absence of her magic became a nuisance that she couldn’t remember or care how it got there, not in the moment when she lifted her son from his crib and looked into those deep, brown eyes. When her daughter blinked those grey eyes at her… and there was no pain there, no sickness. She cried only for attention, for love.
They lived in a quiet village in Italy, but Aurora took them everywhere. She showed them the world and its all wonders, as well as it’s faults. When they went to Japan she thought of a demon, somehow, but the memory was fleeting. Each autumn was the most challenging, as her very soul seemed restless… as though there was something so very important she needed to know, needed to do. The scar on her wrist always bothered her, not in giving her pain but in giving her such a strange and sinking feeling. Things were wrong, some things were missing… everyday she felt it, everyday it was a panic in her chest as she woke up or fell asleep. But Aurora distracted herself. Aspen’s glowing health and her affinity for the water made her want to study environmental science, and she met a woman in college. Aurelio met a woman too, and his mother watched him give his vows on the alter of his wedding day. She held her children each time they laughed, cried. In every moment of pain and joy and success and failure. She held her grandchildren too. But Aurora did not age. One day far too early she said goodbye to her daughter. And then she held her son’s hand as his old and feeble body finally gave into age. The day after he passed, Aurora returned to that small village in Italy, that perfect hamlet. The house was quiet. Empty. There were tears in her eyes as her hand ran along the old bookshelf, thinking fondly of how Aurelio had replaced so many of the dusty old tomes with fantasy and science fiction novels. But there was still one old book there, one that she remembered she insisted they didn’t get rid of. She wondered why… it was so old. She slipped it out of the bookshelf and opened it. That sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach returned. Franticly, Aurora turned each of the pages but there was not a single one without ‘W’ hastily scratched in or scribbled onto the pages. Words that began with the letter W, elven symbols of those english words. Wolf came up most often, as though a part of her remembered Farenduil in the snow. Wolves. W. Wolves. W wasn’t for wolves.
Her heart was beating quick, tears in her eyes and trembling in her hands. When she looked up, Ayi’ig stood there and the book dropped to the floor with a dull thunk. “No,” Aurora whispered. All at once, the memories returned as she sunk to the floor, tears collecting in an unending stream. “…No, no… no… no.”
In the hamlet that had grown somewhat over the years, Ayi’ig found Aurora with tears collecting in her eyes. Broken as the painful truth worked its way back into her mind: she’d never gotten to raise her children, never watched them grow, never marked their progress through life like parents marked height upon a doorframe. The Truth was carved hollow and raw, barren and burdened under the weight of the anger that had grown in the place where love was meant to be, an insatiable desire for vengeance against an unfair crown that led her to strike out against a set of innocent twins.
“Poor girl, my sweet daughter.” Ayi’ig cooed, weaving as she did a web about the other. “To think-” with a gesture the world that Aurora had known for the last century was gone and in its place came Emma on a deathbed, flowers laid about her as Farenduil wept on her bedside. A hateful gaze reared its hideous head as he wrenched his face from his daughter’s cold body, “that history is about to repeat itself.” “How could you do this?” Farenduil asked, he rose as Ayi’ig manipulated further the hurt and the hate in the Winter chancellor’s heart. “My daughter Aurora- my-?” There was too much pain in his voice to finish, only a flourish of magic as the weight of the royal eladrin’s autumn magic prepared to descend upon her, but the fall never came.
They stood now in the snow, the hamlet that Aurora had created at the summit, her people milling about. Warriors and eladrin alike. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. Emma’s fate is not yet written.” Ayi’ig offered, “Yield to me. Your court. Your people. Lay down your arms and swear to never strike out against another drow.” The Queen of the Drow spoke, voice like poisoned honey, “Bend your knee to me and I will fix what you broke.”