The sun was just beginning to rise over Elvinia; the morning crisp, clear and cool. Syrregain trudged out of bed, relieved that for once he didn’t have anything to do. He decided to check in on his mother, who had been a little on the edge for the past few days. She was going insane, and Syrregain knew that—he probably was not far off the mark himself, for that matter. “Mother,” he exclaimed as he got a hold of her; “what are you doing?” Gerodathia was not deserving of the beauty it was always described with. If anything, it was deserving of so much more.