Thistle's fingers trace over the worn pages as she finds an entry that carries a starkly different tone from the previous ones. The ink is darker here, as if pressed harder into the paper, and the writing more hurried, more intense. But it is not Isolde's name she catches...
June 7th
"The news reached me today, and I am afire with rage—these so-called 'freedom fighters,' these villains and traitors, have committed an unforgivable act of brutality. The freehold of Ilyndor, a sanctuary for all Fae, has been reduced to ashes. They showed no mercy, no honor. Within those walls, two childlings, innocent in all ways but their birthright, were slaughtered.
One of them, young Jarin, who I had only just begun to teach the craft of stonework—his life snuffed out before it could even begin. The mortal retainers, who served faithfully and asked for nothing in return, also lie dead.
These insurgents claim to fight for freedom, but what freedom is there in murder and destruction? What justice is there in the blood of innocents? They are nothing but rabid dogs, masquerading as warriors for a cause. I will not allow their terror to spread unchecked.
If the commoners wish to overthrow the structure we Sidhe have provided, then they must be met with the very force they despise. I will build something—no, someone—who will protect us all from these marauding fiends. A guardian, a protector, a sentinel that cannot be swayed by lies or fear. I will pour every ounce of my skill, every fragment of Glamour I possess, into this creation. It will stand as a bulwark against the chaos that threatens to engulf us.
No more will our freeholds fall. No more will our children die. I swear this, by the very stones I shape."