Soraya’s Journal


First Entry

I suppose it best to begin an enchanted text with a proper introduction. After all, the spells shall not take effect without the name of the caster. Everything begins with a name.

My name is Soraya Wenderdowne and I was born to the most noble royal house among all the fayere of Lunnae. Though the Mari-el in their pearl palaces east of the Ienar Sea would tell you otherwise, my clan is Eldest among all our kind. The peoples of Lunnae call us Light Wings, but only those of the royal houses still bear wings of honor. I have always been proud of my wings, because not only are they my most beautiful feature (and trust me when I tell you I am not unpleasant to look upon), but my wings allow me to fly.

Foolish humans believe all Light Wings to be nasty tricksy creatures half their stature, completely made of majik. I will tell you now this ridiculous belief unfounded. Furthermore, the humans of this land are lucky to live freely among my civilized clan and not our distant kin the Mari-el. I shall not lie and tell you we are without majik, however. This part of the legend is entirely true.

Majik led me to the Mirror, of course, where I first glimpsed a world free of the sickness which plagues our humans. There, the humans are not only strong and hearty, but rife with a longing for majik and beautiful things. I should not have been watching the mirror, of course. I turned it on quite by accident with the key I found in my mother’s treasure horde. Why was I sneaking through Mother’s horde, you ask? Well to begin with, it is exceptionally rude to ask a fayere personal questions without intimate acquaintance. Secondly, I might maybe have suffered a lifelong obsession with her shiny baubles. But that’s not important right now. The only thing you should worry about is the Mirror.

No sooner had I nixed the key from Mother’s pile of trophies and tributes than I was drawn to the sacred glade, far from the city gates. I should have known better than let myself be swayed by olde majik. Only children and fools tinker with spells they do not understand. I was not raised to be a fool. I was raised to be a queen.

From my studies, I knew enough of the olde days to be wary the moment I approached the glass arch and pillars. The Phure ruin was perfectly preserved, like every invention the Silver People left behind before The Cataclysm. I sense more questions buzzing at the back of your mind. Let hovering bees buzz for the moment while I feed you the rest of my tale. One thing I will tell you, is any time one comes across the mysterious substance we now call violet ice, the only sensible option is to fly far away.

I have never been a sensible light wing. I flew through the arch, or rather tried to. I ran into a wall of air so hard it knocked me on my back and crumpled my precious wings. I stared for some time at the transparent surface and ran my fingers over it’s glassy surface before I remembered the key around my neck. I came all this way on the edge of a spell, no turning back now. I was not prepared for my first glimpse of the Mirror Land.