Dollhouse

Annwyn stood before an altar, the stone surface slick with fresh blood. She had made an offering to the god of death; just as she had done countless times before. Her heart pounded as the last drop of blood fell from her dagger onto the altar. And then a thick mist began to rise from the ground, enveloping her. Her vision blurred, and she felt a sudden pull. The world around her dissolved into darkness, and she fell down into a void.

When she opened her eyes, Annwyn found herself in her homeland, a place of beauty, of the ancients, and misty willows with their dancing branches. In the distance, she could hear the faint chanting of her people, a sound of prayer and familiarity. She started to run, desperate to reach them. But what she arrived to was the ghostly forms of hauntingly pale figures, cloaked with eyes that burned as they watched her approach them and their gathering. But it was not her people, no. Yet they called to her anyway.

Child. Child. Why do you seek to redeem yourself, Selfish One? What drives you to appease the gods?

Her chest tightened, her guilt causing her teeth to gnash as memory of her crime rush to the forefront of her mind. But she had to answer. “I seek restoration. I wish to regain my honor. So that I might be reborn when this body dies, I must immortalize my soul once again!” She stood steadfast, her ears pinned to her skull as she faced the scrutiny of these... beings. The figures circled her, both comforting and chilling. The chains draped across her body jingled, and the healed scar on her shoulder began to bleed and glow with a brand, just as it had when the wound first stripped her of her birthright.

Your path is fraught with peril, Annwyn Myfïol. Redemption is not easily won. Arawn watches, but he is not easily swayed. Embrace the darkness within, but do not let it consume you. Find a soul that might redeem your own.

The words echoed in her mind, but the forest around her began to shift and change. She found herself standing before a great willow, perhaps centuries old. At its base, a pool of water reflected back at her, its surface shimmering with an ethereal glow. Kneeling beside the pool, Annwyn gazed within its depths. The water rippled, giving way to visions of her past. The moment she abandoned her post, the faces of the children she failed to protect, and the burning away of her clan marking. The pain and regret surged within her, but she did not look away. “I have been searching! This land does not have the same beliefs as I! What am I to do? What chance have I?!” The girl pleaded, tail lashing behind her, but the voices would not respond any longer; the spirits having left her to the constant replay of her crime.


"Annwyn Myfïol"