Anastasia the Beautiful

Anastasia the Beautiful

I was born to a noble family with a long tradition of talent for the arcane arts. My father, Master Samhail Erundien, was advisor to the Lady Irumviel of the Court of the Moon. He was respected for his intellect, for his capacity for self control in the face of terrible Chaos, and for his love for my mother, the Lady Irumviel's only daughter, Aurora.

In their courtship they set the hearts of the bards alight with their passion. Songs were sung of the depth of Samhail's devotion. The normally calm and unshakable wizard would come alive at the sound of Aurora's voice, and his attendants would snicker at how like a lovesick schoolboy he would become. Her affection for one of the “common folk” was forgotten immediately, for the Lady Irumviel was so clearly in support of the union that no thought of gossip could be tolerated. The Queen accepted him, so that was the end of it.

With the blessing of their union, a formal marriage was arranged immediately. The ceremony was lavish. Swans adorned the marriage barge, large enough to hold half a thousand guests. Trained songbirds gave voice to the orchestra, and the bride was garbed in lustrous white samite chased with silver thread and her hair was gathered in a net of delicate silver lace and pearls that glowed as if the very moon had cried gentle tears of joy into her platinum hair.

The Queen herself led the ceremony, a rare occasion and sign of her blessing. The only dark cloud on the evening was an actual cloud that crossed the moon and darkened the occasion at the very moment when the vows were exchanged. At the time it was a merry joke, that the Moon missed the best part of the evening. Later it became much less merry of a joke.

The court was abuzz when Aurora conceived immediately, and the kingdom celebrated the birth of little Lord Armand, fair as his mother and quiet as his father. Clearly he was going to be wise and powerful. When Armand was followed almost immediately by not one but two sisters, it was whispered that Aurora had confounded the infertility of the elves with some dark pact, but no one would say such things within earshot of the Queen.

As the girls grew up, they could not be more different. Adrienne was tall and confident, sure of her actions at all times and a natural talent for the Arcane arts. Anastasia on the other hand, was more sickly. She bore none of the elven grace or the elven art. She could stumble on a flat patch of earth and her ability to control the weave of magic was nonexistent. No one dared to say that she could be magic-dead, but the dread of it hung in the air around her.

It wasn't that Anastasia was a poor pupil, but she did not have Adrienne's drive to succeed. She would watch her sister effortlessly coax light out of nothing, but when she tried to mimic the actions, she was left in the dark. She did not actively rebel, but the judgmental eyes bored into her and she took to spending her free time in the woods, whispering to the chipmunks and voles. Her forest friends did not judge, they only wanted her friendship. Also the little bits of bread in her pocket…

Anastasia did not want to be different. She wanted to be like her siblings, perfect and studious. Her sister mocked her, which she hated. Her brother was kind and comforting, but his pity was worse than the nasty nicknames that Adrienne would lay upon her at breakfast. “You have all of the magic of a tree stump” she would say. “Maybe I should teach the spells to my cat and you can take him to class for you. Would that help?”

Adrienne would mock until she got a reaction from Anastasia, and Armand would chide her for it. “Why do you do that Ad? Why do you have to keep pushing until she cries?” Armand would ask.

“Oh it's not that bad. You know she is faking anyway. She is pretending to be bad at everything so father pays more attention to her.”

“That's not true. No one could pretend to be THAT bad at the art.” Armand tried to keep father's stern demeanor but soon both of them were laughing despite themselves.

Out in the garden, Anastasia calmed herself. She knew that Adrienne didn't mean it, it was just how they had always been. She wished she could show her up, just once. She stared into the reflecting pool, watching her reflection in the ripples and hating the helpless, hopeless little girl staring back at her. She balled up all of her anger and hate inside of her and shouted at the reflection “JUST STOP!” For a moment Anastasia couldn't understand what had happened. She felt the anger leave her like water pouring from a fountain. She saw everything cast in orange and red, and she wondered at the odd charred smell hanging in the air. Then she looked around and comprehended. The whole garden was burning!

The servants rushed out to help. They whisked her away and extinguished her dress and her hair while Armand and Adrienne watched silently. She didn't understand why they were staring at her with such shock on their faces.

Once the servants had left, Anastasia shouted at them “What are you looking at? At least now you don't have a freak for a sister!”

Adrienne started to cry and ran away, but Armand took her hands in his and spoke to her in that pitying tone of his. “No sister, you don't understand. What you did, that was no art. You must never do that again. That was not the magic of the elves. That was something wild and dangerous. That was the magic of mindless monsters. That was Dragon Magic.”