Keera’s Lore

Two strands of pink intertwined around a pair of sleek black metallic scissors, suspended amidst the flickering candlelight.

With meticulous care, Keera unraveled each strand of her fine hair, ensuring no potential harm remained. Satisfied with her room’s adornment, she extinguished the candle and retreated silently to her corner.

In the dimness, she curled into herself, shrouded in an oversized worn robe that grazed her thin frame. The rough wall’s embrace etched painful lines across her back, offering a curious solace.

In this shadowed cellar, pain was her only anchor to existence.

Embracing this scant satisfaction, she closed her eyes, slipping into slumber.

“Ding Dong!”

A crisp bell’s chime pierced the cellar’s silence.

Startled from her sleep, Keera’s blood surged, casting a demonic crimson glow in her eyes.

“The old one returns!”

The bell was part of her intricate setup: silver, tied to spiderweb strands that stretched through a gap in the door, ready to signal any visitor’s arrival.

Counting down mentally, anticipation surged within her. The old one had been absent for days, affording her time to prepare. She recalled their last encounter, where her subtle poison had earned unexpected praise.

Keera yearned to see him bleed this time.

As the door creaked open, excitement coursed through her veins.

“Hi.” A gentle voice, a woman’s, shattered the darkness, suffusing the cellar with an ethereal aura.

Not the old one!

In disbelief, Keera watched as scissors descended toward the woman’s head.

“Is this how you greet guests?” The woman waved her hand, suspending the falling scissors with a watery orb. Mud under her feet turned a pale blue, and a swinging cudgel froze at her command.

Envy gnawed at Keera.

“Who are you?” Her voice, childlike, betrayed genuine surprise and joy.

Flushed with excitement, Keera’s face hid in shadows. Strangely, the woman evoked calmness and memories of happier times.

She reminded Keera of her mother.

For that reason, her tone carried an unexpected intimacy.

“I’m Sephera, a mage from Carano. And you?”

“Keera. The old teacher calls me Keera.” Eva’s gaze held innocence, untouched by deceit.

Sephera hesitated. This child was trouble.

Approaching, Sephera extended her hand. “Your teacher is gone, but I can take you home. Do you remember where that is?”

“Home?” Confusion clouded Keera’s expression.

Sephera frowned. “Elven blood flows in you?”

“What’s elven blood?” Keera asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Come closer. Let me see.” Sephera reached out again.

This time, Keera complied, feeling an inexplicable tranquility.

“By the heavens! What has Lorion done to you?!” Sephera’s embrace revealed scars, a testament to Keera’s torment.

Recalling D’Arcy’s past, Sephera made a decision. “You’re safe now, child. Come with me to Carano. It’s our home, the home of all mages.”

Keera pressed close, holding back an unspoken truth:

“I’m going home, with Mommy.”