Magdalene looked at the small pile of wax-sealed letters on her desk in the study that she shared with her husband Toril and let out a sigh.

It had been a long and trying day. First with her stalled attempt to teach the girls how to speak correctly, followed by the incident with her nephew Sten and his lackeys, followed by the hunting expedition and the Game Warden’s explanation, reluctantly given, as to why Sheilah and Fialla’s faces and hands were sticky with blood.

“It’s clear that I need to acquire a battalion of teachers for the both of them...” She muttered disconsolately.

She picked up a letter, examined the seal, and opened it. She read the letter indifferently and sighed, rubbed her face with her hands, and picked up the letter again.

“How was your outing with the girls?” Toril asked from his desk.

“It was... a very long day.” Magdalene replied. “There were ...surprises.” She paused, and then shook her head. “That’s not it. There’s just...” She shook her head. “If only it wasn’t so hard.” She complained. “I’d love to be able to simply point to a dress, and have them be able to understand it.” She furrowed her brows. “Or...” She shook her head. “There’s ... more barbarian than human in her, Toril!”

He gave her a confused look, but she shook her head. “It’s better that you don’t know.” She replied, mentally replaying the Game Warden’s description of the two girls eating the piglets they’d strung up raw and uncooked, crunching through hide and bone alike, devouring them as if they were starving.

She picked up the strange leather pouch she’d been given by Sheilah.

“A gift,” the girl had offered by way of explanation, “for the woman who gave birth to me. Life for life.”

She opened the leather pouch, inked in savage curving hooks, and let whatever was inside it drop out onto the desk.

It hit the polished wood with a clatter, and Magdalene let out an exclamation. It was a silvery gray stone, glassy smooth and translucent, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand,. As she peered into the shimmering grays, she fancied she could see tiny thunderbolts flickering in the roiling depths. The stone itself was warm, and thrummed in her hand.

“What’s that?” Toril asked, coming over to her desk.

Magdalene, feeling a little prankish, gave him an impish look. “It’s a gift from Sheilah, husband.” She replied. “It’s mine, and I’m keeping it. You can’t have it.”

Toril rolled his eyes, and then froze. She hadn’t addressed him as ‘Husband’ in decades. He blinked a few times, certain tears were going to come out, desperate to keep them back.

He struggled to suppress his feelings, and made a show of peering over her at it, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” He admired. “Do you think we should get it set to be worn as a necklace? Or a pendant, perhaps?” He asked curiously.

“Oh, can we?” Magdalene asked, her voice betraying her delight and excitement. She put her hand over his and looked up at him, eyes bright.

“Sure.” He replied gently. “We can call a jeweler tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, husband!” Magdalene said, and impulsively threw her arms around him. He returned her embrace, thanking the Light and his daughter for this moment of youthful affection, so long missing.

*****

A massive streak of dragonfire splashed across Stormheim, boiling away the stone of the city in a moment, erasing centuries of work, flames as high the castle rolled like an avalanche of destruction, washing over the surrounding countryside as the sun was blotted out by a monster that defied size, defied reason. Claws dug into the ground as the Great Mother Tyrant landed, the shock of impact causing the earth to ring like a toneless bell of stone, throwing up waves of earth and boulders the size of mansions.

Waves of flame washed out from the Tyrant of Tyrants as her children swooped around, riding on the massive thermals her destruction generated.

Through all of this, Sheilah somehow managed to survive, choking on clouds of dust and ash. The kingdom of Stormheim was gone, the landscape irretrievably destroyed simply by the Mother Tyrant’s arrival. There was nothing left to destroy, but that fact wouldn’t stop Her insatiable appetite for destruction.

Her clawed feet tore up the earth, her wings stirred embers into blazing tornadoes of flame, and she passed across the land like a great burning shadow of death, and a lonely, desolate hell of ash followed in her wake.

Sheilah awoke in her furs, trembling and crying, feeling the palpable ache of her heart in a dragon’s talon grip, a horrifying, terrible reminder, the unspoken warning, the ruthless promise. Tears leaked from her eyes and she wept silently so as not to wake Fialla.

*****

Sheilah and Fialla had hardly woken up when Andrea’s voice echoed from the front of their shared bedroom.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Princess, it’s time to wake.”

Sheilah eyed her red dragon armor, and rummaged through her belongings for a shirt. She shrugged into it, struggled into a pair of leather pants that were starting to get a little too tight for her, and gathered up her hair.

“Sister, you should wait for me.” Fialla complained, struggling into her own clothes.

“You know, in the Redstone, if you were the last to rise, you were the one to do all the chores.” Sheilah teased.

“Those Mist Prowler hides are so soft and comfortable.” Fialla complained, taking a leather thong and tying up Sheilah’s hair, then kneeling down so Sheilah could do the same for her.

“I wonder if we can convince Magdalene if we can go hunt them again.” Sheilah mused.

“Probably not.” Fialla warned. “Did you see how she looked at us when we came back?”

“There’s a huge difference between hunting a totem and hunting a Mist Wolf.” Sheilah objected.

“She won’t care.” Fialla replied in dolorous tones.

The two traded commiserating looks and stepped out of the bedroom, hearing the strangled noise from Andrea, no doubt in reference to their clothes.

What were they supposed to wear, though?

“Breakfast is being prepared and will be available shortly.” Andrea advised, and Sheilah nodded.

“Will it be with Toril and Magdalene?” She asked. Andrea shook her head slightly. “Magdalene will be arriving a little late, as she is summoning seamstresses to take your measurements.”

Fialla gave Sheilah a guarded look. “Take what?” She asked warily.

Andrea explained that clothes needed to be made to size, and for that, they would ‘measure’ the two of them, and then, using those measurements, make the clothing to fit.

“Huh.” Fialla replied.

“Is there something wrong with the bed, Princess?” Andrea asked.

“Wrong?” Sheilah asked.

“It hasn’t been slept in.” Andrea replied. “If there’s something wrong with it-”

Sheilah shook her head. “There isn’t anything wrong with it.” She replied. “I don’t...” She began, and then changed what she was going to say. “I have never slept in one before.”

Andrea rubbed her forehead briefly. “For the time being, if there is something you don’t understand, you should ask me. Understand you should do so discreetly, so as to avoid an embarrassment.”

Sheilah nodded, and then leaned towards Andrea slightly and lowered her voice. “It’s something of a long walk to the privy at night.” She murmured. “Also cold.”

Andrea nodded. “I will explain the chamberpot later this evening, assuming you will be too busy until then.” she whispered back.

Breakfast was frustrating.

She could not serve herself, she had to request the things she wanted, wait for all of them to be added to her plate, even when the food was right in front of her, and only then was she allowed to eat.

She couldn’t eat too fast, nor could she eat too slow. Her knife could not scrape on the plate when she cut her food.

That was another thing- all her food had to be cut into bite size pieces before eating. She had to chew each bite carefully. While she was admonished that it wasn’t ladylike to request additional plates of food, she did anyway until she was satiated.

“You shouldn’t eat that much, Sheilah.” Magdalene warned cheerfully. She was both lively and much more relaxed than she was the previous day, as if a great deal of stress and tension had been discharged overnight.

“My mother Ladria would disagree,” Sheilah replied in an equally light voice. “Sheilah,” She’d say, “You are a growing girl. You need to eat more so that your body can grow the way it’s supposed to.”

Magdalene blinked at that. “Well, she’s not wrong. But there’s a difference between eating in public and eating in private. In public, you should only eat enough to be polite.” She paused and then added with a frown, “and she is not your mother. I am.”

Sheilah elected to ignore the last bit. Ladria may not have birthed her, but Ladria had raised her as her own, and she would give the respect where it was due.

“We’ve eaten breakfast; what next?” Sheilah asked.

“I’ve summoned my seamstresses here.” She made an offhand gesture. “Andrea, be a dear and go bring them here, will you? The two girls and I will be in the dressing room.”

With that, she led Sheilah and Fialla into a room that was just off to side of Sheilah’s bedroom, and sighed dolorously. “Your clothes are in an absolute state, my dear. I’d faint from shock if I were seen wearing such... things.” She added, taking a seat. “But, we’ll do what must be done.”

Sheilah gave Magdalene a frown that the older woman seemed to ignore.

Fialla sat up straight as Shielah turned.

“There’s six- no seven of them?” Fialla asked, pulling out her knife.

“One of them is Andrea.” Sheilah replied, but her own knife was in her hand.

“Huh?” Magdalene remarked, giving the two girls a puzzled look. “The seamstresses? Wait, how can you tell that from here?” She asked.

Sheilah and Fialla traded looks.

“It’s a barbarian thing.” Sheilah replied drily. “You wouldn’t understand.” She added as Andrea and six seamstresses came into the dressing room.

The seamstresses themselves were older women, even older than Magdalene, and they had Sheilah and Fialla out of their clothes in a twinkle.

They poked and prodded and used lengths of cloth to measure their arms, across their chests, their spines, their waists, their hips, the length of their legs, the works.

“Toril also suggested that they get clothes for riding and fencing.” Magdalene interjected while sipping wine from a glass. “Absolutely dreadful hobbies I should think, but he is the king.” she added, and the seamstresses began talking in some mystifying jargon that neither Sheilah nor Fialla could decipher.

“You’re definitely going to be a tall one, Princess Sheilah.” One of the seamstresses offered. “You aren’t finished growing yet. Be certain to eat plenty of meat and cheese.”

Sheilah shot Magdalene a look, who rolled her eyes in return.

The seamstress who spoke to Sheilah looked at Fialla. “It seems you’re not finished growing either.” She added in a much cooler voice than the friendly tone she used with Sheilah. “Do your best. I suppose.”