The Fall of Prismeer

History Repeats Itself

"My name is Adelaide Ravenhand, and this is my story."

No, that's fucking stupid.

"It began with the purchase of a carnival."

Ugh, I am terrible at this.

"What are you doing Gram?" She came over and sat next to her aging grandmother. She pulled over a stool and sat next to her, arm perched on the desk, looking over the scribbles on the parchment.

"I am trying to do what you told me to do." Throwing down the quill in frustration, sitting back in the chair with a sigh. "No one is going to read this."

She looked at the parchment again then back at her grandmother. "No one can read it Gram. It's just black scribbles."

With her head resting on the back of the wooden chair, she rolled her gaze from the ceiling to her granddaughter cocking up a single eyebrow.

Straightening herself on the stool, she took her grandmother's hand, surprised by how warm it was considering how thin her skin appeared. "Gram," looking into the forest green in her eyes "you need to do this. If you don't, no one will know the fate that you saved us from and it opens the door for opportunity. This could happen again."

Lolling her head back up to look at the ceiling, a large sigh escaped her. "I think you are giving me too much credit I -"

Gripping harder on her grandmother's hand she cut her off hoping to keep her point moving. "Did not single handedly save Prismeer, you simply were there to help those that did. Gram, you don't give yourself enough credit. You were there. You saw what happened. You saw what lead up to it happening!"

Silence.

"Gram," squeezing her hand for punctuation "if you don't do this, your story will be lost. No one will ever know how Adelaide Ravenhand defeated Rakdos, The Showstopper and saved Prismeer as we know it today."

Frustrated, she slowly stood up, using the desk for support. Her knees aching under the weight, her back hurting and her hips tired of holding her up. She grabbed her cane and moved over to the window. The sky was gray, but she could see the clearing. A flock of birds exploded from the forest in the distance. A black cloud against the blue sky. Her shoulders ached with the dampness of the passing storm.

"Gram."

"I'm thinking!" She snapped back.

Why? Why should I be the one who tells the story. It's not my story to tell. If anything, one of them should tell it. They were there too. Hell, get Zyblina to tell it!

She felt her granddaughter's hand rest on her shoulder and suddenly realized how angry she was. Shaking her head slowly, then more definitively, she tapped her cane on the floor with finality. "No."

"What?"

"No." She turned to face her granddaughter, taking a breath and bringing herself up to her full height. "I'm not going to do it."

Closing her eyes and taking a calming breath, she started to speak but was cut off. She had not heard her grandmother use this tone of voice since she was very young.

"It's not my story to tell. And even if it was, it involves others that should have an opinion."

"Gram, they're dead!" Frustration was starting to come through.

"Exactly." Her voice had the note of determination in it. As she moved away, leaning heavily on her cane, she knew she had disappointed her granddaughter but was defending those that she loved.

"You think its ok, to just let this story die? You think Frimiea would be ok with -"

"You do not speak her name!" With a fire in her eyes and a renewed energy, Adelaide had turned on her granddaughter, cane pointed at her chest. Her green eyes now shone with anger and love. "You have no right to think you know what Frimiea would want. Or Amato. Or Thott. You don't know them." She brought her cane down after her explosion of emotion. She felt bad for yelling, but did not regret it. She looked away for a moment to gather herself.

"No, I don't." She replied softly. "And I never will. No one will. But they still live on in your stories. Every time you speak of Jenks, or Amato, or even Thokk, I feel like I learn a little bit more about them." She took a step closer to her aging elder. "But when your gone, who will be left to tell their stories?"

All she could do was narrow her eyes in return. She understood. She was the last. She was the last one to know what really happened at the Witchlight Carnival. When she leaves, so does the events that happened. She turned her back once again. She hated when her granddaughter was right. And it seems to happen more and more often these days.

"You do it."

"What?" It was barely a whisper, but she thought she heard her grandmother finally cave.

Turning around, placing her free hand behind her back to both push in the aching spot and to prevent her from hitting something, she took a breath and said it again louder. "This means so much to you, you feel that this is important for everyone to know. You do it."

"You want me to write your story?"

Closing her eyes and nodding slowly, she gave in. "No one is going to read the ramblings of an old woman. And that is exactly what it would be if I wrote it. You feel this is important, you write it. You ask me what you want to know, and I will tell you. You want to know how something happened? I will tell you."

She could feel her cheeks beginning to hurt because of the smile on her face. She had finally done it. She convinced her grandmother to put in writing, to finally document the imprisonment of Zyblina, the fall of Prismeer, and the destruction of Rakdos, The Showstopper. People would finally understand what fate almost befell them if it wasn't for the heroes of Wyldbrook.

Not wanting to ruin this moment, or pushing her luck with her aging, yet still emotional grandmother, she sat down at the desk and began jotting down a timeline. The progression of events so that she knew where to begin.

Adelaide moved over to the window again seeing vaguely in the distance, the movement of Telemy Hill. She sighed, thinking of Jingle Jangle. When was the last time I saw him? I really should go see him soon.

"OK." An excited voice came from across the room.

"OK?" She turned to see her granddaughter, smiling from ear to ear, perched at the desk, quill and ink in hand looking at her expectantly. "OK...what?"

"Tell me. Start at the beginning. What was Mr. Witch like?"

"You mean Neryx Crumple?" Adelaide sat down slowly on the settee across the room.

"What?"

The look of confusion and excitement brought a smile to her face. "Mr. Witch was not always known as such. Before they took over the Witchlight Carnival, he was known as Neryx Crumple. A poor orphan child adopted by a clockmaker."