I walk through the great hall, silent and unwavering. My gray shroud drifts like mist through the feasting guests, my face hidden from them beneath a heavy veil. As if they could even see my form. Blind fools! You think that you can not be touched by the unknown, that by ignoring you can render harmless. I could draw my blade and cut you all down, and even then you would not perceive me. be thankful that is not my will. I reach the end of the hall and am ready to leave when I hear a frightened gasp. Turning, I see a servant entering the hall, her face pale, her wares dropped on the floor. She sees me, I think. She, out of everyone here, is able to pierce the first of my veils. I take a step towards her, and speak, my wispering voice as cold as the winter chill. "Begone from this place. You need not share in its fate." Then, I quickly turn and walk away, heading toward the highest tower. Towards the one I have come to free.

Back in my dungeon. I cannot feel my own pulse, it is so weak. Rain drips from the corner of the ceiling, pooling at my claws and chilling me yet more. Nothing keeps me from leaving this place for good other than my own soul. It binds me here, and I plead for it to live again, to stir and to answer me. Sometimes I think they, down below, hear my cries, but no one ever comes here anymore. This dungeon was once a beautiful place, with lavish lighting, secure walls, and stories woven freaquently by the visitors. Now, it is nothing but a holding place, with it's lonely walls moaning with the weight of death. Occasionally, in my sleep, I hear soft footsteps… I feel eyes looking through the door they opened ever so slightly. But they always leave me here, I don't believe they can see me anymore. I don't believe they care. I look up to the door once more, the shadows that hide my face obscuring anyone's view of who I am, but there's nobody there who would see, anyway. I am but a mere phantom of what I used to look like. I used to be a creature of pure creativity, a marvel of the imagination. Now, I am invisible to the unwilling eye… I could hide in the middle of an empty room, and yet I would not be found. I hear footsteps. The swish of a cloak. Could it possibly be…? My old friend! Yes! I listen enraptured to the clink of their blade against their armor, hidden by the tattered rags they wear now. I look down at my own appearence, pale and shivering, a wonderful creature preparing to die alone. The door opens, and my friend gasps.

"What has been done to you!" They cry and fly to me. I wrap my claws around them in a weak embrace. "You're as cold as ice! I must-" I hear no more. My time is up. I fall to the ground, and the rusted metal that makes up my hide begins to deteriorate. I will only live again if… My voice is a distant echo.

Will you save my home…? 

The merriment continues, with no sign of stopping. The rain increases, however–I can hear it over the voices sometimes, in the pause after laughter or at moments when speaking halts so the music can be enjoyed. I am kept busier and busier, constantly holding a tray or two.

Eventually the rain pours so furiously hard that I can't take the usual route to the dining hall–I have to walk through one of the castle's longer halls. The candlelight is dimmer than usual as I hurry through, holding only a single wooden tray. I don't like this hall at night; one of the cooks tells tales of goblins here. I shove that thought aside and continue on my way, finally reaching the dining hall.

Then I see it. Someone, or maybe even something. At first I see only faint outlines of them, and then almost their entire form, though clouded somewhat, as if I'm not able to see it all. They appear to be wearing a veil, the fabric draped over their form. I don't realize that I've dropped the tray at first, in shock.

They speak suddenly. "Begone  from this place. You need not share in its fate." With those words, they walk away, already beyond the dining hall.

Before I fully register what has just happened, one of the guards turns and sees me there. The guard speaks kindly, telling me the spilled food wouldn't have been needed anyway, as the Princess had retired to bed now and wouldn't need the food. The guard must think I had stumbled. 

The guard continues, saying I might like to be away from the crowd, and asks me to bring the prisoners their meals… I take a deep breath, trying to fight away the fear of whoever or whatever I had just encountered. "Yes…I… I can do that." 

I walk quickly towards my friend, my hand touching my black blade. One instant, and I cleave the bars of his cage asunder. "You are weak," I say softly, the chill gone from my voice. "If I had known, I would have come sooner." Kneeling beside his prone form, I pull down my veil, uncover my hood, show him my face. Then I lift my head, and I sing. I sing of day and night, darkness and light. My song is one of mornings, summer days, a soft breeze, warm rain. I sing of healing. And as I sing, I draw forth my power, the light from my right hand balanced my the shadow of my left. And from my light, my song was, a drop of light, a piece of my spirit. "As I once took, so I now give," I whisper in prayer. "May my light rekindle yours, if only for a little while. For we are kindred souls, we are of the same spirit. From my darkness, I form a little light. From the edge of daeth, I call back to life." I fling the light up, and watch as it falls, like a drop of water, onto my friend. "I have given you part of my spirit." I say, standing and drawing up my hood again. "Forgive me, but I must leave now. But I will return, when I have cleansed this place of its shadow." So saying, I draw my balde once again, cleaving the tower wall. I run through the hole, and jump, running across the falling rain.

The light my companion has given me brings forth my spirit. I look my friend in the eye as they jump out of a rift in my dungeon's wall, cloak billowing. The hole seals up behind them, trapping what is left of my physical body in once again. A creature of light now, my faint outline carved in a dim white glow, I walk through the door, unhindered by tangible boundaries. Now, able to disappear in and out of existence, I shall whisper my death song into the ears of those here, hoping…

Will you save my home…?

The feast is magnificent- glimmering, full of laughter and light. Just like any of the other feats held in the last years. They blur together in my mind, forming a long stretch of these same experiences. 

Too much. I can't stand it.

These feasts were always her favorite. I remember being very young when she entered my chambers before a gathering just like this. A swirl of blue skirts, golden curls, and rosy cheeks, my sister was always a beauty. She would twirl me around until I was exhausted and laughing so I could barely breathe. Then we would come down to the dining hall, rumpled but extraordinarily happy.

No more.

Now my father, the king, is trying to find me a suitable husband, and the girl who laughed so beautifully is gone, victim of the plague that took so many of our kingdom's lives.

The dining hall starts to swim in my vision. 

I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over the extravagant throne I've been sitting on, hold my skirts up to my knees, turn and run from the room. My mother's reproachful glances ignored, I haul open the heavy oak door, a difficult task for someone with my short stature. My flowing lilac sleeves and nut-brown hair billow behind me, causing several platter-bearing servants to turn and stare. I run down corridors and up stone stairs, until I reach a final staircase, spiraling up out of sight.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to climb. I'm out of breath by the time I reach the top, and my soft slippers brush the tower floor. Sheets of rain blow through the arch-shaped openings halfway up the tower wall.

I collapse on the floor, sobbing, all royal dignity gone. I cry for what seems like hours until my gown is soaked and my eyes are dry.

Then I hear footsteps on the tower stairs. 

Sorry about the awful writing in that last piece. XP

<3 

It's fascinating how the mouth can operate without direction from the brain. 

The servant had stumbled, she had seemd shocked. My voice reassures her, telling her the princess probably didn't need the spilled food, it's all right, actually, the prisoners might need soime, would you be averse to…? My voice is friendly, tired, and, to my ears, ridiculously annoying.

She hurries away, still looking shocked. Was that fear I saw in her eyes for a moment? If so, it was too well hidden for me to be sure. I am too used to the abject terror I see and experience on the battlefield for me to easily decipher subtle expressions. Exhausted from gibbering on to a serving girl – likely not interesting in whatever pathetic things I had blabbered away about – I slump back against the wall, staring back to the window to the open courtyard. I realize she must have thought I was a guard. Aheh. My stance and chainmail probably misled her. I don't often wear it, ridiculously heavy, but tonight… tonight feels dangerous.

I stay there, shivering, or maybe it's just me breathing, for what feels like a few minutes. Could be more. Something – more than one – brushes past me. I whirl, fighting stance ready, left hand reaching for the specially-made sword that is not at my side. I thought – in the corner of my eye – a hooded figure – something moving – nothing.

A tapestry is swinging on the wall. The wind, likely. 

It's gone, whatever it…. may have been.

It may not have been there. But… something echoes through the cold, stone hallway of my mind. I have heard many, many cries for help. Most of them cut off abruptly by either a sword or a horse stepping down with a crunch. Very few have been whispered into my ear, excepting the phantoms in my mind. Very few – almost none, in fact, have said Will you save my home…?

I do not mean to interrupt you in your story-spinning, Chatterboxers, but………I must alert you.

This is the third-to-last post.

The third-to-last post before my identity will be locked, and I will not mark any guesses right or wrong, until the fateful hour I leave this place.

For yes, I am out there. I am a Chatterboxer too, immersed in the stories and discussions we call our home. Mighty as (I hope) my architectural skill is, I am just another normal person, another in the gibbering crowd.

So if you want to know……………….know who I am, my common name…..

Guess.

Time is running out. 

This is really cool! Castle Builder, are you Vyolette?

—

The hall is loud in my ears. I cannot hear myself think, but I do not care. This place is full of joy, and I cannot be sad.

A servant weaves her way through the crowd. My fellow guests laugh their hearts out. The princess leaves for bed. In the midst of this chaos, I leave for the loo.

On my way back, I find myself in an unfamiliar hall. The stone ceiling is high and arched, the floor worn from centuries of use. Ahead, there is an armor-clad figure. He stares at his feet, melancholy.

I stop walking as I reach him, a question on my lips. He motions me on, but I see sadness in his eyes. "Will you save my home?" he murmurs.