Born of Misery (CURRENTLY UNDER EDITING)

Prologue

          The history behind a name is as important as the person themselves, if not greater, as they fall endlessly through the adventures of generations catching up to them.

Mistralicane Rusalye was born on a full, blue moon, where the cold waters of a Fjerdan winter lapped at the skin of a her mother; A nøkken with grey, scaly skin and tendrils that were once a beautiful tail, before she had slashed it with a knife bestowed to her by a loathsome brother. With a delicate touch, a boy sat next to her in the sand, only five years old and already causing the waters to swirl by his command. Tonight was a curse, or so that's what the people of the north say, where witches and dragons lurk in the shadows and ready to eat their fill of humans and lavishly lap from the golden rays of the next day. All the stories were alive tonight, all creatures were waiting by the edge or in the water to catch sight of the sea queens princess.

Suddenly, a pale hand reached from beyond the cold sea, delicate and as pale as the moon, it contrasted its mates dark complexion. With soft blonde hair that stuck to his face from the water, scales glowed beneath his skin as he bit his tongue and pulled through the pain of his horrid transformation in order to see his daughters eyes for the first and last time. A Grisha spy was actually the first night crawler, Baghra, the apparent Ruler of death and darkness walked across the shore.

"Mistralicane!" the man suddenly shot out, cradling the little girls hand in his own, her eyes suddenly staring down at him.

"And what is that?" Baghra asked, turning to the lost and forgotten prince of Fjerda.

"Her name," Aegir Rusalye whispered, turning to his wife, who was more beautiful than any storyteller could ever dream of describing her.

"Than that it shall be," Ulla promised, turning to look up at her mother, who left her to the crashing waves the day she was born,"She will be Mistralicane Rusalye and he Cyoceap'th Rusalye. Ruler of Wings and the Guard of Graves." 

Sitting her daughter on the soft sand beside her, Ulla was not a soft mother, she knew her baby could take the cold better than any Fjerdan could ever dream of charming its cold country winds.

Before she gave up her daughter and son to the wicked world, she turned to Baghra one last time with a smile that showed her teeth, more jagged than a spear,"Protect them, or I will drown Ravka."

That was the day Mistralicane Rusalye was given the title of torrent winds with her fathers monstrous fairytale name. She never learnt how to swim like her brother did, was never able to create memories with either of her parents before she was taken from them both to be taught under the pretence that she and her brother would be protected and strong. Afterall, under her mothers sharp reform and her fathers soft hushness, they believed that one day she'd come back to them a ruler.

But now, all she is is a girl blanketed in darkness, hiding in a restless Ketterdam, where the people only closed their eyes, but never actually allowed themselves to lull to sleeps embrace.

In an alleyway, hidden away from the busy streets filled with rats clothed in silks and cotton, was a little girl teetering on the age of thirteen. Not at all like the one from the beloved story, she didn't dress in pearls like her mother dreamed or demand respect just by her name like her father hoped. No, instead, she was found leaning on a rustic wall, sitting in a puddle beside some mouldy barrels. Her ripped coat just managing to keep in the meagre heat her body produced. Her blonde hair, once neatly kept, now knotted and oily.