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They were married. I was the result. I don't think I was part of Dad's plan. Mom certainly wasn't, not with a screaming kid. Dad and Mom divorced when he left his first law firm.Mom was in love. Dad wasn't. It tore Mom up. She went into depression, drugs and alcohol and I spent a lot of time with her parents while she went in and out of treatments. I spent the occasional weekend with Dad. He tried, I guess. For a while. When I was eight, Mom went into yet another hospital. I had the optimism of an eight year old. I kept hoping that THIS time it would work.It didn't. Mom checked out of the hospital and checked into a cheap motel with a bottle of pills. I lost my Mom. I ended up with Dad when Mom's mom died a year later.By this time Dad was on his second wife, another young pretty one. And Dad was making money, so I never lacked for anything, except a parent. Stepmom wasn't signed on to be a parent. It wasn't out of any great love for me that Dad decided to divorce her. I harbored the. The tower is grey stone, seven stories high, and square. The first floor is an enormous atrium, broken by columns lining the walls and the four stone stairways that ascend to the next level. Each woman silently walks to the nearest stairway and ascends. For reasons they do not know, they cannot speak or make any sound in the atrium; it is powerfully enspelled into silence. Upon reaching the second floor, they make their way to a stone table in the center of the room, dropping packs on the ground as they gather. They each sit at a chair, still maintaining their cardinal positions. At the eastern side of the table, the tall, blonde woman stands. She has the fullness of adult-hood, somewhere between her second and third decade. She wears long leggings of undyed leather and a tight fabric tunic. Two leather bands cross her chest, emphasizing large breasts and a long torso. They hold a pair of knives near her slim waist. She speaks: "From the eastern cliffs, where the sun rises, I have.
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