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making a mental note of the trees on
every side of her. They were just starting to open up what would
soon be peach blossoms. Firinne smiled fondly, knowing that the
ancient trees would not feel their silent sadness until autumn,
when their little babies would fall, one by one, down to Fia where
they would begin their new journey of providing nutrients to the
roots of their parent-tree.
    Firinne was almost to the garden.
She stopped in her tracks, turning around to view her home. She
admired Citrine Castle, not just for its breathtaking architecture
but also because of its history, her family’s history. Citrine
Castle was built hundreds of years ago by her ancestors and it was
one of the most admired structures in all of Fia. Firinne always
loved watching the faces of travelers as they stared in sheer
confusion, trying to decipher how such a feat could be built, as
well as where all the crystals could have come from.
    The Castle was built from carved
Labradorite blocks. All of the towers of the Castle were lined with
raw Citrine crystals that encased each terrace. The windows had
Smokey Quartz pebbles encrusted into their outlines. All of the
doors of the castle were made of Cherry wood, each of them having
pyrography designs burned into them. Some were extensive scenes
illustrating their people’s legends while others were trees,
animals, flowers, land, and sea. If that wasn’t grand enough for
the ancestors of Citrine, the middle and largest tower had Citrine
crystals that angled inwards towards each other, creating an
illusion of a golden pyramid at the top. Firinne’s family came from
a line of crystal-fabricators. Since the Blacken had come, though,
the line had become tainted, and Firinne was the last living,
crystal-fabricator of her family.
    Firinne had entered the garden,
also encased in Citrine crystals that were taller than she was. The
crystals provided the garden with shelter without obstructing the
Sun’s light. Triphosa was at the edge of the garden admiring all of
the new growth which was now peeking out of the warm soil beneath
the ivy.
    Triphosa was beautiful. Firinne
secretly envied her for it. She was slender and delicate, with long
black hair, and a face of unblemished perfection. Her face was like
that of a doll — swollen pink lips, freckles in all of the right
places, and skin as soft as silk. She had the eye of every man in
the Queendom. Growing up, Firinne often felt mediocre — just an
invisible entity standing in Triphosa’s great shadow of enthralling
beauty. Firinne admired her in the golden light of the Citrine for
what was such a long time, that it was nearly shameful.
    Triphosa took her by the hand,
leading her to a wooden bench near the ivy. “Tell me what’s
troubling you. I’ll do everything I can to help.”
    “ I am sure you’ve probably already
guessed it.” Firinne took a deep breath. “It’s Cyneric. Something
is wrong with him and I don’t know what to do, or what to think.
You know how much I love him. He’s my life.”
    “ What is it?” Triphosa
said.
    “ I didn’t know what else to do but
to talk to you. Mum is already too tired from her own battles to
deal with this. I don’t know what else I can do.” Tears were
beginning to escape from the corners of her eyes.
    “ Firinne, take a deep breath and
tell me what is going on.”
    Firinne explained all of the things
that had been going on. She told Triphosa about the secret travels
that Cyneric would disappear on, and the ice cold silence from him
that greeted her upon his return. She explained how long it had
been since they were intimate with one another, and about the harsh
words that he would often spout-out at her in the times that he
would actually speak to her. Firinne then went on to tell her that
sometimes he would come home intoxicated, and that one time she had
followed him to Nightsend Tavern just outside of the
village.
    At the end of all of this, Firinne
met hesitation. She was so afraid to tell