Page 63 of Court of Aether and Shadows

"But I'm not..." I started to protest, but the words died on my lips as another wave of memory washed over me.

A grand hall filled with beings of impossible beauty.

A throne of living crystal, humming with power.

And a name whispered with reverence and fear:

Lirael.

There it was.

That missing piece of my soul has been desperate to click in place.

The world suddenly tilted around me, colors blurring and swirling in a dizzying kaleidoscope. My legs gave out, and I felt myself falling backward towards the water.

The last thing I heard before darkness claimed me was the sound of voices calling out:

"Princess Lirael!"

My consciousness began to slip away, just like how my body began to sink into an endless abyss. I could have been having a mental breakdown, but I always pictured those as overdramatic moments of chaos — the crying and screaming were usually a bonus in theatrics.

My mind thought it was funny to ponder upon this Princess.

Whoever this Princess Lirael was.

Clearly, she’d have loads of explaining to do because certainly, that couldn’t be me. Royalty? What did that even mean in a fleeting world of endless color and lasting opportunity?

That wasn’t what I was afraid of.

I just didn’t want to admit it.

Acknowledge that if I were this Princess in this terrifying yet alluring world that felt like home, the me I’ve known for as long as I could remember was…

A lie.

The little girl who watched people come and go, looking at the child with odd black and white strands of hair, delivering stares of conflict and disappointment. How the world ignored my existence, despite my pleading eyes for help.

For salvation.

To be in a nice cozy home that would open their arms to me.

That would give me a chance to survive.

Instead, all that suffering and turmoil led me to the Underground where I spent all that time fighting desperately to prove my worth.

What the heck was all of that for?

Was it all for nothing?

Where were these visions and tales before that?

It felt like my world was shattering, and it hurt.

Burned like my lungs that were desperate for air, while the world sunk further.

If my life is but an illusion does that mean…

Sparrow isn’t real?

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