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Can you imagine what it must be like; to be thrown away like a dirty dish-rag because a man has chosen to use you so? Imagine then if everyone you ever loved hated you equally for what he'd done to you. This happened twice to me. One of them is dead, but the other is still very much alive. I will have my vengeance, all whilst this bastard grows within. It wasn't his fault; they'd all told him that he was the one. They'd called him the Holy Spirit. He could've only assumed that they knew what they were talking about. They were an entire country. Who was he to disagree with their judgement? But, oh how quickly the people of Jenjol could change. And as for Ilgrin, who would've predicted he could become so wicked? I will always love him, although his blood is on my hands. I doubt anyone has ever killed another so close to them as I have. I still feel his throat closing between my fingers. I squeezed. I squeezed and I squeezed.

I'm not your child. I was kidnapped and raped. I've been tormented by demons, tortured and cut. I was infested by whisps and forced to murder my own son, so don't you dare tell me to trust in the Lord. Maker doesn't live here anymore. The entire world had been conquered. Far-a-mael had bitten off more than a thousand mouths could chew. Their only hope now was to somehow find the key that would allow them to unlock the gates of Hae'Evun. And that task--one so great that every life, both human and otherwise, hung in the balance--Seteal had left to an elf owl. In the end, it didn't matter what they thought of you ... or even what you thought of yourself. In the end, all that mattered was who you were.