BeckyFarris

I'm sitting here by the light of three candles, which cast orbs of golden light on the blank pages before me, marred only by these few words I've written yet. I'm wondering why in life I'm doing this- writing out my memories, my history, at the insistence of one who has known me since I was pressed from my mother's womb.

As if I hold any secrets from you, Arhyn.

Still, your request seems simple enough, easily done. I should be sleeping this night, God knows, for tomorrow sees me upon the battlefield at my father's side. But to be honest, were I not sitting and writing this for you I'd probably be laying awake in the middle of my bed, staring at the darkness and wondering if Death lurked there for me, if it waited for me in the deceiving light of the morning. What a frightening thought! I think I'll ruminate on something else.

I'm hoping that your request, dearest Arhyn, does not mean you foresee such a fate for me in the morning. You have named me a brave soul, though I oft do not feel that way, but I do fear Death. Perhaps that is foolishness for one of my years, but I do, and I cannot deny it.

Perhaps it comes from my very birth, a birth which you have told me countless times I should have never survived. Perhaps the lingering fear of simultaneously being thrust into the world and being torn from it remains me still. Rather a romantic notion, but not impossible.

I shall expound on things you already know, as you have requested, and I shall refer to you by your name, as if I were not writing this for your eyes to begin with.

My name is Bethany Duncan. Rather a plain name when you forgo all the titles. I am named for my paternal grandmother. The senior Bethany was, in her day, both a matriarch and a warrior, though she wielded no sword save her own tongue, no armor save her own will. I wish sometimes that I had known her, especially after hearing my father speak for hours on his beloved mother.

If you did not know me, hearing my name would perhaps bring images of farming, or herding, or merchanting, or a million other occupations individual minds would associate with such a name. I could be anything, anything at all, from harlot to priestess in the Church.

Imagine me, a priestess! Imagine me, a harlot!

Hold that vision of me for a moment, whatever form and face your mind has conjured up at my name, whatever occupation or situation you see fit. Hold that image, for it is a very personal one for you. Keep it tight, before I melt it altogether.

Hold it but one moment more.

Now...

My name is Bethany Duncan, second born daughter of King Gareth Duncan and Queen Lauren Duncan, of the Kingdom of Senoth. Heir Apparent to the throne. Guardian of the People. General by appointment of His Majesty Gareth.

Now you see why I gave only my name at first. Were I to sign that all the time whenever my signature were required, I'd need a second sheet of parchment.

From the above statement you can glean many more things from me now. Ah! A princess, and not priestess or whore (though I've imagined myself as both). Hmm. Second born, yet Heir Apparent; perhaps her life has already been tinged with tragedy or scandal? Parents seemingly still living, ergo her age cannot be all that great, though it can be very considerable. General...no doting, beskirted lady this, if enough of a warrior to denote such a title.

Have I greatly shattered your picture of me?

Allow me to shatter it further.

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The first of a six-part epic centering on Bethany Duncan, the willfull and unwilling heir to the throne of Senoth, a country under seige. Start a journey with Bethany that will soon become a life long saga of war, religious intolerance, magic, romance and drama.