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Summary
It was the day of my death.
A day more notable than the one of my birth.
Long gone was the bloody, weak and cord-tangled thing destined only for the whorehouse to which I was born, and gone too, was the starving youth, in filthy alleys offering the warmth of little flesh, or the slip of a cold, sharp blade.
Instead, I knelt before the very blood of the Royal Aeducan House, better dressed than even a king's own concubine. I, among the sullen few, donning the ceremonial finery of the ancients, armour serving as my sarcophagus, and a hood as my shroud, charred to the deepest, hollow black of the Void.