Sins of Greed - A Tale of Two Fools, Book One

Chapter 8 - Evelia

Out in the middle of The Vorilian Sea, on the Isle of Summer, was a raven-haired, white-skinned little girl. She was a dreamer. She envisioned life of how it could be – never how it actually was. 

She wanted to be beautiful. Why couldn't she be? 

She wanted to be powerful, and rich, and famous. Why couldn't she be? 

She wanted to see the fabled cities and golden archways of the Faefolk. Why couldn't she? 

And most of all, she wanted her family back. Why were they taken from her? Was that the work of the Gods? Why would Ubios, the God of Life, allow her mother and father, her sisters, her gran, to die? What did they do to deserve their life being stolen from them? Why did Vastrix, the Goddess of Death, choose her family, out of all the others, for her realm so soon? And why did Jerin, the God of Mayhem, drop this chaos and this unfairness on her lap now? 

She was angry and she was confused. She didn't understand why it had to be this way. She didn't understand why, like ants, us as human beings lived on the whim of other beings stronger and more powerful than us. 

She wanted more than that. She could not be weak, could not have everything taken from her. 

It wasn't fair.

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The magic flowed from her fingers like water – it truly was as easy as it looked for Evelia. This magic, green magic, was for growth. She spread it out over the crops and the vineyards and the farms of Lurinlia. Her entire body was emitting purple and blue mists just as rejuvenating green magic was leaving her fingertips. She spent days, days that she'd rather be doing something more important in her mind, executing her Sovereign's bidding. 

After she was content that she'd done enough, she made her way back home to Bidvale as a raven, her preferred method of travel. 

Back to her real work.

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The Isle of Summer was a beautiful place. It was small, quaint, and relatively untouched by man. There were only four or five small villages and one larger one that functioned as the capital on the entire island, which was about threequarters the size of Bidvale. 

It was it's own nation with it's own people, heritage, and government. Their way of life was almost entirely centered around the production of the highest quality and sweetest honey in Olvion, which in turn created one of the most popular meads anywhere, Summerian Mead. Summerian honey was the main ingredient in Summerian Mead, and it was how The Isle of Summer had survived and made a living since time immemorial. Every Summerian had a hand in producing and cultivating either the honey or the mead itself through one of the few meaderies and/or apiaries on the island. 

Their forefathers and predecessors did not worship any gods; to them it was useless, pointless, and intangible. Their gods were their families, their homes, and their mead. Granted, Lurlinlian modernization, the little that had reached the Isle, had planted in the minds of the Summerian peoples the ideals of the Tribune through contact with Lurinlian sailors and tradesmen, their most frequent visitors by far. As such, the little bit of deism the Isle had was centered on the three gods of their massive neighbors to the west.

The island got it's name from it's climate and it's flora; it never snowed on The Isle of Summer. In fact, Winter altogether almost didn't exist on the island. No matter the time of the year, it was always comfortably warm. The trees and plants on the island were unique in that they couldn't grow or survive anywhere else. It was this particularity that gave The Isle of Summer it's beauty; trees with orange leaves, green leaves, purple leaves, red leaves, trees with rainbow colored flowers embedded into the branches, plants with colors just the same. And all of this vegetation never dying, the trees never dropping their leaves and becoming bare brown skeletons of their former self. Winter didn't exist on The Isle of Summer. Only Spring and Summer.