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"The Emerald Deep" by parody_ham
Snow. How quaint a sight. How it glows in the light of the full moon. In my arms, a bundle of blankets stirs and a little face, that of a bleary-eyed Baby Eyrie, pokes up as if to question the fuss around him. Why his mother sang such a haunting tune, or his father surrounded them with a ring of makeshift candles. We decorated a juniper tree with ornaments made of hardtack, red berries, and garlands of moss—such, my partner, Mariana, informed me, was a holiday tradition of Meridell. What they called “The Day of Giving.” We of the Citadel called it the Day of Darkness. Mariana, the Moon’s Rising. A time of reflection, of hope, of new beginnings. Setarian’s first of many, or so we wished. Looking back, it’s fitting that I met Mariana during the Month of Collecting. Fall colours—something I had not experienced until the Great War—swirled around me like things possessed. Aimlessly wandering, fallen from their tree on high to the dusty ground below. I felt their sorrow, knowing that I, too, could never find comfort from the branches above me. A Darigan, fallen. Leaving my family, my friends, and my life behind, for the hope that isolation could bring me peace of mind. Knowing full well that if I returned there, I would be branded one of Kass’ defectors, one of the thorns he had sworn to pluck from the vine.
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