Best Of

a painting of an Unbroken spirit

This is a painting done in three separate, hinged panels, each detailed and complete enough to stand on its own. All three together as a triptych tell a story of darkness and light, of shadow and color, and the middle bears a gilded title plaque upon the bottom center declaring its name: 'Unbroken'.

The first panel is deceptively simple at a glance. Oil brushwork manipulates color to severe and tortured effect, the darkness at the edges bleeding into the central focal point. There, brilliant colors fight against the shadow, a peacock in stunning, iridescent midnight blue haloed by white roses growing from a bush behind him. Though he sits upright, with his neck bowed and his head craned to face the central panel, his eyes are closed. On close inspection, the dark lines streaking down his avian cheeks are not natural markings, nor are they tears, but they are, instead, streaks damp with blood.

Fastened to the right hinge, the third panel depicts a scene tense and fraught, though nothing immediately appears wrong. Twisting ravenwood trees, lovely in their own right, crowd around a clearing where many indistinct figures recline. Some are vaguely defined by their shapes: there are at least one kepheran and a tae'dae, and perhaps a few elfen as well, but many are faeling of different sizes and wing shapes - and one has something off about them in particular, a distortion to their shape, a fuzziness to the black hue, that makes them not belong. Though these mortals are ill-defined and indistinct in this heart of shadow, the central figures of this painting are most certainly not. A visage immediately identifiable as the devastatingly beautiful, hauntingly countenanced Goddess Viravain stands brightest, Her bone-white hair a corona about Her face and body. Something alien and intelligent has been captured in Her bewitching blue eyes, twinkling with proud laughter. She wields a wickedly curved scythe, a reaper's tool, standing next to a figure much Her opposite, a being whose very garb pulls pleadingly at Him to rejoin the shadows. It is the God Nocht - and despite a glimpse of skin that looks unhealthy and gray, brush strokes imply, rather than define, something likewise handsome in His bearing. A captivatingly radiant peacock's feather is affixed to His clothing, the eye a brilliant, gleaming gold. Though the feather itself is sightless, the God's own piercing eyes, ethereal blue within starbursts of similar gold, look not at the gathering but at the painting's viewer, ever watchful.

Flanked by images of sorrow and fear, the middle panel is twice the size of the other two, and somehow twice as glorious. This painting is the rising sun cutting through the darkness, life itself in so many triumphant, breathtaking hues, all touched by a glimmering golden glow.

In this frame, people of different shards gather beneath an old apple tree heavy with ripened fruit. The earth itself is dusted with pale pink flower petals nearly white as snow, a soft and fragrant cushion for everyone to lounge upon. Some individuals are immediately identifiable as Mayflowers by a crystal bindi upon their brow or a glimmer of prismatic color in their eyes. Some are not: there is an elfen, dreamily gazing at - or perhaps past? - a dark-carapaced kephera with sunset orange markings, while this kephera sets out delicious-looking food for the others. An affable, dark-furred tae'dae sits beside a mouse-kin who grasps his tail as he gazes up at his companion, immense affection reflected in his eyes. Further part of this circle, a human in a striking apple-shaped fascinator sits beside a hovering faeling with a pot of something all the others steadfastly refuse, and still others more have been painted here, flatteringly and with fondness. Gazing upon them all in the background is the Goddess Maylea, Her every contour and color recreated with utter devotion and obvious love. Chestnut and blue hair caught in a passing breeze, She stands in the shade of the apple tree with Her bow Pathfinder in hand, a protective, benevolent presence. Beside Her hovers a faeling with antlers and an artfully-crafted autumnal kimono, a particularly vivid pattern of apple blossoms glimpsed upon her olive skin at her neckline.

You read what is written on serene stationery of pollen and bees:

Dear Gurashi,

I confess I am nervous this month, now that it is Klangiary. I know there is no cause for concern - my Lady loves me, and She will catch me whenever I should fall. I know She will follow me wherever I may go, even if I wander into the Void itself. There is nothing at all to fear with Her so near.

I think I fear the responsibility that comes with the task before me, though. My Lady is trusting *me*, of all people, of all of Her devout, to lead a sect of people and *teach* them strength. Me!

I began worshiping my Lady because I saw Her strength firsthand, and I wanted to be strong like Her. I wanted to learn how to be true to myself, but not like a rock. Like a tree. I'm not as strong as I need to be yet - not even close - but I *am* strong. I'm not ashamed to know it.

I've been spending nearly every waking moment leading up to this rite reflecting upon that - upon the path my wings have flown me down, about my journey from sapling to tree. About how I have flowered, and the fruits my actions have borne. I've been thinking about all that I've learned, all the friends I have made and lost, my very dearest sister Elexia, the hopes I've cultivated, the dreams I've had, and the ones I nurture, and the ones I've let go.

I've been thinking about forgiveness, too. Do you remember when we met, after you helped Shashi's murder? Do you remember how I said I would never forgive you?

I have been thinking about that a lot. And while the pain still burns fresh in my heart whenever my thoughts touch upon him, I've realized something.

There are many I will not forgive. But I do forgive you.

LMS

Dear Gurashi,

It's Tzarin now, and the summer heat has finally begun to relent. I'm not sure how it feels in your home, but here in Serenwilde, Dvarsh in particular can be excruciatingly humid and hot. But the flowers that grow during this time are worth it - they're so pretty!

I remind myself that six months will pass as fleetingly as flowers blooming. I will see you again, soon - properly, anyway - but 

I'm still worried about you. [This is crossed out with two stern swipes of the quill.]

I fear you being alone with your Forest's Gods. [This is crossed out messily, though the loops in her penmanship are still legible to a careful eye.]

[The next attempt is blotted out completely.]

I'm still worried about you.

During the first week of Harvest, I will undergo something incredible. That's next month already! My Lady and I will create together, and I wish you could be there, too, although I know you couldn't, even if I were allowed to see you. After it is done, though, and when we can see each other again, I hope to show you the fruits of our labors - of Her gift to me.

I miss you.

LMS