Maylea's Fulcrux with a dash of Zouviqil

Zouviqil

The Fulcrux of Maylea.

Branches twine overhead, the ambient light filtering through the thick, vibrant 

green canopy to dapple this copse of young beeches in flecks of brilliant gold. 

In the shade cast by the leaves, bluebells have grown across the ground so 

thickly that the sky might be dwelling underneath the trees. Each delicate 

blossom shimmers faintly with a hidden power, beautiful and ethereal in nature. 

Where the beeches stand aside to form a grove of vibrant blue, the flowers 

soften each footstep to a whisper of sound, and even the trees seem to bow 

quietly towards the shrine placed at its centre. Outside of the grove, the 

bluebells fall away gracefully from a colourful path of vibrant, low-lying 

wildflowers that passes seamlessly into the aether. Light arcs across the 

surface of a standing stone at the centre of the grove, bending in shifting 

patterns of colour.

You see a single exit leading through a path of wildflowers.

You ask, "Lady, are You waking?"

You tilt your head curiously.

You shake your head.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Are you well, Moondrop?"

Comprehension flashes across your face.

You ask, "Am I well?"

You ponder the situation.

You say, "I am not dead, or injured. I would imagine so."

Softly, you ask, "Are you?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Well enough."

Keeping her voice soft, you say, "I was worried about You - not because You're 

not strong, but because people need an ear or a shoulder when they're said. Even

divine people."

You peer at yourself unscrupulously.

You say, "Sad, rather."

You say, "I know You have my mother and my father, and Your whole Order, but 

everyone I spoke to said You wanted to be left alone... and... well, I shouldn't

assume to know Your will, but sometimes, when I want to be left alone, that's 

when I really need someone there."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Thank you for the kindness, Zouviqil. I have 

been filled with thought since My brother's death, but not the kind that comes 

with words..."

A bit quietly, you ask, "The kind that comes with Your heart twisting and 

writhing about, leaving You to wonder, 'Why, why, why'?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Why, indeed. Always was He headstrong, but ever

was He My First. And though we were divided, I did not know there was such a 

chasm in between that I could only watch and do nothing as He died."

Shaking her head a little, you say, "It wasn't Your fault, or His. You cannot 

hold Yourself accountable for His death."

You ponder the situation.

Voice softer, you say, "If He were able to see You, I bet He would not be happy 

with Your sadness. He would not want You sad - likely, not to be dead in that 

sense, either, but if He knew He could not return, He would not want You to weep

too long."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "It is a fine thing to claim not to be My 

brother's keeper, and yet it does little to balm the hurt. I suppose it is well 

for My being and for all of you that I could not do as Lyreth could, but..."

You ask, "But You wish You could have done something, something that would have 

been just as substantial as Lord Lyreth had?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "He was, good or ill, close or distant, the only

sibling I had left."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Earnestly, you ask, "I have plenty of siblings, if You'd like me to share them 

with you?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "As a woman with plenty of siblings... would you

consider it the same?"

You nod your head emphatically.

You say, "If I lost my siblings... I don't know what I'd do."

You say, "I would be sad for a long time, I'm sure."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "I mean to ask whether it would be the same if I

offered one of Mine to replace a lost one of yours."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "It is not the same."

Comprehension flashes across your face.

You say, "Oh, in that sense."

You say, "No, it wouldn't be."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "And though part of Him may live on in this... 

this Valtreth... it is yet  not the same."

You ask, "Would You rather Him not live on at all, rather than Him being 

different?"

You tilt your head curiously.

You say, "It's not the same, but it is something."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "I would rather He be intact as He was."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Gently, and seeming to change topic, you ask, "How is Your little one?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "And we could be distant, and yet still be 

brother and sister."

You nod your head emphatically.

You say, "You'll never lose that bond You had with Him so long as You remember 

Him as He was, but, it's hard for me to not worry about Your little one during 

this time, as well."

You say, "You are her mother, and I know how I get when my mother's upset."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Eilir?"

You nod your head enthusiastically.

You say, "Yes! Your little one."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "She is learning much and being. I have not 

disturbed her with My woes."

You say, "I'm glad to hear it... I am still worried, though, for the both of 

You."

You ask, "Is she Your first child?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "I have never Awakened on My own before."

You nod your head emphatically.

You say, "She might be picking up on Your cues, however subtle, when she sees 

You. She's very aware of the world, from when I had the pleasure of meeting 

her."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "She would have learned sooner or later."

You nod your head emphatically.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Though I suppose we all wish for later."

You say, "You sound very much like You need a hug. Or to scream into a pillow."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Perhaps I need many things."

You take a gold-flecked floral scroll from a dark green leaf pack.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "You went to ask Isune about your colours."

You smile broadly and say, "I did. Words fly quickly."

You say, "I wasn't asking how to get rid of them, but a way to deal with them. I

learned from You they shouldn't be disposed of."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "You would lose more of Zouviqil than you would 

like if you tried."

You nod your head emphatically.

You say, "You said that last time, too, I believe. And I've come to see that 

You're right."

You ask, "Do You know the advice She gave me, as well?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "To complement."

You nod your head emphatically.

You lower the hood on gauzed forest-green robes.

You remove a gold and silver lyrebird mask.

You ask, "And where am I now?"

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "I suppose that is a compliment, too."

You giggle happily.

You beam broadly.

You say, "Yes."

You say, "Your colours are very bright, but they're the most beautiful I've had 

the pleasure seeing."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Thank you, Zouviqil."

You say, "I may not be in Your Order..."

You say, "... but, You are my favorite divine."

You ask, "Why else would I pester You so often?"

A soft, inquisitive voice exclaims, "An even greater compliment!"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Have you read My Book?"

You say, "Ah, I can't see You, but Your voice lifted!"

You shake your head.

You say, "I haven't had the pleasure yet, I'm afraid."

You ask, "Is it in the library?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Ask your mother."

You stick your tongue out and say 'Ack.'

You say, "I should have expected that answer."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Well you might ask your father, too."

You ponder the situation.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Does that help?"

You say, "It does."

You say, "Would You mind if I left something with You? It's the only copy, but 

it's best served by You and Eilir."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "I would not mind."

You nod your head emphatically.

You drop a gold-flecked floral scroll.

This scroll is made of fine vellum, creamy-hued and smooth to the touch.

The edges are worn with age, but the colours upon the inked wildflowers

adorning it are still vivid and fresh. Among the twining blossoms can be

discerned the thorned rose, the bright snapdragon, and the gentle

bluebell, among many others. Tiny flecks of gold leaf are scattered

across the scroll, resembling glints of light in a deep pond or

wildflowers dotting a meadow. A green ribbon ties the scroll, held fast

by a seal of golden wax bearing the insignia of a crystal orchid.

It is entitled "The Littlest Fae" and the author is listed as being Moondrop 

Zouviqil Myeras, the High Wisdom's Apprentice. It is written in the common 

tongue.

It weighs 12 ounce(s).

It bears the distinctive mark of Moondrop Zouviqil Myeras, the High Wisdom's 

Apprentice.

It has been stamped with the seal of The Stagleaf Bookbinding Cartel.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Did you know that I designed My shrines after 

stepping stones?"

You blink.

You say, "No, I didn't."

You say, "Your shrines are gorgeous though."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "The shrines are too much pomp and circumstance 

for Me."

You giggle happily.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "And so I made them small, unassuming."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Yet I am worshipped like any other God."

You ask, "Would You want it another way?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Perhaps a way it can never be."

"Oh?" you exclaim quizzically.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "For there is a chasm that divides us as well."

You nod your head emphatically.

You ask, "Are You speaking of the splintering? Or another chasm?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "And much that not even your parents yet 

understand about Me."

You blink.

You tilt your head curiously.

Concern evident on her features, you ask, "Do they ask, at least?"

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "No, but I cannot imagine why they would."

You blink.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Yet eventually I will feel compelled to tell 

those stories."

You ask, "Like the one about Lord-Tear-Out-Your-Jugular?"

Zouviqil touches her neck a little, in remembrance.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "No, little Moondrop. These stories are about 

Me."

Tilting her head the other way, you say, "That one was about You as well, 

though..."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Was it?"

You say, "It highlighted a new viewpoint on Him, but it also showed a great deal

about Yourself."

You say, "It showed You have the ability to be vulnerable. You are strong, yes, 

but even You need saving sometimes. You also are curious."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "And yet in the end we are all the protagonist 

in our own story. None other can be the star."

You nod your head emphatically.

You say, "And each story overlaps into the next, and the next, and you can find 

hints of protagonists from stories thought lost and forgotten in the stories that 

have just started being written."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Some things will never be forgotten."

You nod your head emphatically.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Your kindness will not."

You blink.

Zouviqil

Emerging seamlessly from the vibrant colour, Xypher walks into view along a path

laid out by wildflowers.

You ask, "Kindness?"

Xypher sticks his tongue out and says 'Ack.'

Xypher walks along the path laid out by the wildflowers, soon lost amid the 

vibrant colour.

You ask, "Oh dear, is there a line? Have I spent that much time pestering You?"

A soft, inquisitive voice exclaims, "I thought I just complimented you!"

You give a trillingly melodic laugh.

You say, "Being called kind is a compliment!"

You say, "But it confused me."

You say, "I didn't come here to be kind, I came because I love You and wanted to

make sure You were okay. I've been very worried."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "One of the dearest virtues a person can possess

is the ability to simply accept a compliment and say thank you."

You say, "I will have to learn it, then. I'll start now."

You say, "Thank You for the compliment."

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "And you are dearly welcome."

Zouviqil giggles softly, smiling some.

Maylea, Bloom of Serenity has bestowed Her divine truefavour upon you. It will 

last for 1 month.

You blink.

A soft, inquisitive voice says, "Go and thus be blessed. I have no doubt we 

shall talk again."

You smile broadly and say, "Another compliment. Thank You. Be well, Lady Maylea.

You have my love and my concern. Don't be afraid to poke me when You may need 

me, if such a time ever comes."

Motioning to the scroll, you say, "And if You have the chance, read that to 

Eilir! I think she'll be grateful to have You read to her."

You wave goodbye.

You smile broadly and say, "Be well and safe!"

You slip into a gold and silver lyrebird mask.

You raise the hood on gauzed forest-green robes.

You trace the path laid out by the wildflowers, vibrant colour suffusing the air

and obstructing your vision in an array of rainbow hues before the vision passes

and you find yourself somewhere else.