Exhibit III551Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4DCovL8zRB
Totem551Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHNS7yymyHU
The soft lull of silk curtains rustled in the early morning breeze. A coo of a bird – one might imagine midsized by the caw – trickled through the open sill. Coolness wafted into the room, the month of Cy being one much colder than that of Dyvek in Solen. Still, with such a pleasant breeze one might have not been awoken by how it tickled the cheek, brushing past the hair as it reaches the corners of the space. However, such a delicate kiss could be felt vibrantly by the young woman nestled into her bed. Her fingers twitching on the end of the fine fabric and her world shaking slightly – a soft shiver running down her shoulder to her thigh. She awoke, like every morning before this one, to darkness.
Feeling around the edges of her cocoon, she touched the sides of a book bound in leather and printed in the finest Wurnunynian ink. Spreading her hand across the coarse binding, she displayed a thin smile that pressed lightly against her lips and curled up her cheek. It was that same smile she gave everyone she met.
“The Duke of Virea has arrived, my dear,” her mother would call. “Entertain him while I set up lunch.” She would show him that curled smile.
“Your father’s mill partner has arrived, my dear,” her mother would shout. “Make sure he’s welcome.” She would cock her head and show that curled smile.
“The paperboy has arrived,” her mother would command. “Get the paper from him and make sure he’s paid appropriately.” Her hand would reach for the thin parchment while her other slipped into a leather pouch and produced a quarter imperial. As she did so, that curled smile would awake again.
“Von has arrived from his duties at the Institution! Make sure to greet him well, he’s worked hard for the family.” That response, unlike all the others she had heard day in and out, she had only dreamed of. The woman could imagine Von home once again as she brushed her hand against his smooth cheek, caressing the lines of worry and stress stretched along his face. I wonder if I would smile the same for him, she pondered, tracing the grooves in the tome. I bet I would smile with my teeth showing, each one on display between my lips. She moved her mouth and touched those very lips and giggled. Von would think me foolish to appear like that before him. He would chastise me for sure.
Pressing her palms now into her sheets, she pushed herself upright. Her body ached and groaned, begging her to cease the action, but she knew better. If I do not get up now, I will not be able to move for the rest of the day. Feeling the bound book underneath her right hand, she turned her head towards that side. That’s the side where the edge of the bed should be, she deduced.
Flipping open the book, she caressed the flat pages that lay before her. She grimaced as she followed her finger up and down the columns. She knew that the proper way to read was in this fashion, yet the delicate procedure of documenting the symbols proved elusive to her attempts at detecting meaning. Pressing the tip of her finger tighter to the page, she searched for the grooves that would grant her understanding. A few times she ran across a symbol compounded with too much ink and a brief spark of excitement would rise in her throat. However, these brief reprieves from the monotony of incomprehension were not enough to grant insight into the text and she pushed the book onto the floor in frustration.
A hard thump resounded from the wood as the woman cried out in anguish, nursing her sore hand. To think pushing a book would hurt, she pouted in her mind. Realization hit her in waves though, and the weakness she felt from waking certainly was not of nature’s accordance. Von. The name hit again, fantasies and fictional reunions danced in her mind, pushing her deeper into distraught. If only he was here . . . To feel his hand between mine . . . To hear his voice as he laughed . . . I bet his voice has deepened since I saw him last. I bet he has a wonderful, melodic laugh.
Sliding her legs underneath the fabric, she eventually positioned them hanging over the side of the bed. Cold air licked the bottom of her feet and she shivered once more, the feeling trickling throughout her body. Inching closer and closer to the edge, soon her feet touched the wood floor and stability warmed her despite the frigid contact. My bed dress is quite thin for weather like this. I will have to use my shawl.
She knew where the shawl had been lain the night before. Her mother often left it across the back of the fine cotton couch. Once she had seen those patterns: the endless swirls of copper on the ruby fabric. Now she could only trace the spirals, twisting and turning to the divines’ delight.
Sighing, she pushed off from the bed, her hands moving from behind her to the front so that balance could be maintained. Shaking legs shifted beneath her as her twitching fingers flickered in the space before her. One step at a time, she repeated in her head. Just as before . . . Walk like you did when you were a babe.
The auspicious steps, each slow and deliberate, led her across the room. Her arms extended and her body was terse with frightful anticipation. Another step and the cold wood would greet her again. Another reach and the air, frigid and bitter, would nip at her exposed skin. Closer and closer, inching towards the illusive shawl until a voice rung out through the room, slicing through the chill.
“Young lady! What do you think you’re doing?” Shaken by the outcry, the woman almost tumbled down and collapsed on the floor. Her breath quickened just as her pulse did. “You can’t go out of bed on your own! Don’t you remember what happened last time?”
She did. But that did not mean she would let a single fall – regardless of the injury’s extent – restrain her freedom. “I do, mother –” she started before the resounding cry burst into the air.
“Then you realize the danger of this?”
“It is only a shawl!” the woman begged, her arms returning to her side. “I know where it is—”
“You know where it is?” the mother mocked, her voice thick with disdain.
“On the chair,” the woman stated. “You laid it there last night.”
“And what if I hadn’t?” The younger woman opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came forth. No response could flutter from her lips and she remained still – poised in a picture of despair. “You might have tripped over a loose board or slammed into a chair that had been pulled out too far. And even if you had gotten to the chair, there was no guarantee that it would have been there!”
“But it must be!” the woman shouted, her breath becoming more airy. “It must . . . It has to . . .” Her mouth slipped around the words, unable to properly enunciate. Each fleck of air dispersed from her lungs got caught, trapped by an invisible force sealing her power away. She reached out, desperate to feel skin on her own – a reassurance as the waves of fatigue grew more tidal. However, she remained determined; an attempt at defying the insidious efforts of the art.
These feelings pressed to her chest, pushing her further down. Her legs buckled under the mounting strain – endless pounding cycling in her head. A beat, thick and meaty, bounded from her forehead back to the bottom of her skull. Falling down, she felt her body drain and slip into automatic reaction. Her thoughts barely registering the commotion around her.
The next thing she knew, hands were pressed against her back. She did not hit the ground – instead she was floating above the wooden planks like a doll hanging from a child’s hand. Soft whispering slipped into her ear and she imagined the face above her like a nook on an old oak. Wrinkled and weathering with roots – veins – reaching down the trunk for sustenance.
Eventually, hearing returned to her and the soft trickle of water running down a brook turned to tumultuous thundering.
“Rin! Rin, are you alright?” The mother shook her daughter as if believing the more force she exerted, the more her child would be restored. “Child, speak to me!”
Fluttering her eyes and reaching upwards with a fragile hand, she caressed those withering creases across her mother’s brow. “You don’t have to worry about me, mother,” she said with as much ease as her touch. “I just lost my balance . . .”
Her mother’s exasperation told all. “Now listen here, child –”
“Mother—!”
Rin’s mother had to stop herself before she slapped the girl; her menacing tone did the same. “You listen here, child. I am done talking with you about this – almost frightening – attitude of superiority—”
“There’s nothing of the sort—”
The woman raised her hand, as if to bring it down, once again. “So help me, child. I will take my hand and wipe it across your face if you don’t start speaking sense.” Tucking her arms around Rin’s frail body, the girl felt the bulk of her mother’s biceps lift her off the ground. “Such nonsense. Such utter nonsense.” Fusing and muttering, the mother leaned her child onto the edge of the mattress, steadying her.
“Now,” the mother began again, warm worry beginning to seep through her cold correction. “Did you want the shawl, or not?”
Rin nodded her head weakly, staring directly at – what she hoped – was her mother’s face. “Fetch it for me.”
A sigh of disgust broke through the mother’s lips, yet she obliged nevertheless. “I don’t know why Physicker soi Nuin’s herbs did not strengthen you. He said that they had been tested thoroughly for weakness around the body.” A soft cloth fell into Rin’s hands and the girl began to trace the thin designs in the sturdy fabric. “The sickness should have left your body as well – at least, if this physicker has any merit.” A heavy sigh followed. “Ah well, if you can’t trust one of our own, you can’t trust anyone. I tell you something, child. I don’t think there’s a physicker in the whole empire who could beat our Solen practitioners—”
“The Institution might have a solution.”
A palpable silence fell between them. “What did you say?”
“The Institution . . . of Maegi—”
“I told you not to speak of them.” The heavy stench of milk and manure flooded Rin’s overwhelmed her senses and the girl buckled under the odour of her mother. “Nothing good ever came from those bloody maegi! Why . . . your damn brother is proof of that!”
Rin bite her lip, her breath becoming more rapid in pace. “Mother . . . you should not be disgracing Von–”
“Child, listen to yourself! That bastard boy is a demon. Nothing plainer nor simpler.” A sharp exhale caused Rin to wince. “You remember what he did, don’t you? Poor, sweet Ceil soi Xao still has nightmares about the corpse he made of her cat—”
“It is not his fault he could not control the art—”
“Art?” her mother sneered. “There’s nothing expressive about a maegus or their desire to consume. To place them among masters of emotion . . . it’s heinous!”
“He had no choice!” Rin shifted in her seated position, her neck craning out towards her mother’s voice. “He has no more say than a bird cawing for its mate, or a hunter taking its prey for sustenance, or—”
This time the slap connected and the poor girl collapsed onto her bed, a tear sliding down her cheek. Her mother, upon realizing what she had done, flung herself beside the weeping girl. “I’m so sorry . . .” she mumbled into her pale shoulders. “You mustn’t think ill of me . . . I just . . . You know how it is with your father and Von . . . I . . . I feel so helpless.”
Rin, still feeling the sting of the blow, drew herself towards her mother, patting around the bed until she reached her wrinkled hand. “Von is not evil, mother. The Institution is good for him . . . it will help him!”
But the moment for recourse had passed and a sharp bark broke through the air. “I’ve had enough of this. No more speaking about that divine-forsaken state! I don’t care if Von’s guilty or innocent, he’s no child of mine and no brother of yours.”
Hearing the stifled sniffs and wheezes of her mother attempting to gain control, Rin bowed her head and mumbled, “Yes, Mama . . . I will do as you have asked.”
Arms like oaken branches fell around the frail girl and the deep, yet musical vocals of her mother whispered into her ear. “Good. Your mama knows what’s right. You’re a good girl.”
Pulling back and wiping her daughter’s face with thick, sausage-like fingers, her mother’s disposition changed drastically once again. “Now, your father said that the Duke of Virea – Fa soi Ku – has taken quite the interest with you after your little ‘engagement’ last week. He requests your presence immediately at quan vu today. You need to be freshened up and placed in your finest clothes. You understand?”
Barely able to defend herself without another calamity befalling, Rin relegated to a simple nod and a curt “Yes, Mama.”
Tucking her hands beneath her daughter’s armpits, Rin felt herself being hoisted up by her mother’s strong arms. “Now, I’ll lead you to the tub. We don’t want you tumbling again like you did this morning. All we need now is another quick fall and then the whole afternoon with Fa is ruined!”
Clenching her teeth and exerting a sharp sigh between them, Rin muttered under her breath, “I may be blind, mother, but I can see just as well as any. It is my frailty that is my only weakness.”
Stopping in her assistance, Rin’s mother took her other hand against her child’s back and pressed her into her chest. Leaning her head down onto the crown of her head, she whispered into her daughter’s ear, “Oh child, there is so much you still can’t see.”
Leaving no room for a retort, Rin’s mother whisked her child off to the bathroom, her steady hands pressing her along on the strict schedule. Although Rin craved for freedom, independence from her mother’s hectic babbling, she realized that her ailments prevented her from a life of true prosperity. Von’s face returned, just like the memory when she promised him her strength.
Even now she remembered those words just like they were yesterday. “Brother, I give you my heart and my soul. May you draw from me so that others will not be hurt, so that miracles can be created, and so that your gift will be beautiful and pure.” He always had said she spoke with the elegance of years beyond her own, but Rin never paid heed to such compliments. He always used to flatter me, she thought as a smirk rose on her face. He always loved me . . . He still loves me . . .
Pressing onwards without due course, Rin began to ponder the duke as her feet wobbled across the frigid stone floor and the familiar sound of rushing water greeted her sharp ears.
I wonder what impression I gave the dear duke all those days ago? Rin pursed her lips as her mother’s hands began to remove her sleeping garments. I wonder what smile I will show him when he arrives?
As she pondered, one particular grin grew on her face: a smile where her teeth were all showing between her thin lips. Joviality sprung deep from her core as a single thought bounded around her head. Oh, how he’ll laugh!
ns 15.158.61.20da2
