My dear Foundling, my heart, my world,
You have been robbed of so much wonder and beauty. You have had more stolen from you than most can imagine in a whole lifetime. I am selfish, and I saw in you, my Lost Child, a thousand wishes fulfilled, so in the way of my people and yours I kidnapped you away and made you my daughter. Perhaps, if I had never lured you to my mirror, you might have been perfectly content with the old storyteller. You could have taken your sword of flowers, grown as you were meant to, and avoided every tower. Gone your mother, gone Inius, and gone Mordon.
For whatever it is worth, I did not know what I was doing when I brought you through. It is not justification, I just… hope that one day you will understand me for the flawed, imperfect thing I am. I did not know.
I know now. I know now.
But that is the maudlin. Acknowledging what has been taken. I took from you your childhood, your first kiss beneath the moonlight. I took from you your stories, your friends, and even your home. Cast out into the starlight, you have landed sprawled in a graveyard.
But I let you listen at doors, did I not? Look at me with that wicked gleam that I remember so vividly and tell me that you do not love dancing across the oceans like a leaf in a hurricane. You have frightened the Questing Beast, lead the Children of Red. You have grown to fit your blade, and I see the spark of wildness that seeks to catch the still places of the world aflame. Who hunted the Marr of Forgetting, and stood at its edge before summoning that inky still night? They may just be stories, but that does not mean that for you these things cannot be true.
Keep your eyes towards the mirrors. If you watch closely, I will always be just out of sight. You bear in your heart emberlight—do not let it fade in the night.
The rest of this book, my Fair Moon, I give for you to keep. Write the stories of your journeys and write out the tales you weave behind closed eyes. You will find that they will guide you in all things.
Once Called Aza'hiim
