My ambitions to have a family has been fruitless.
I have brought back several women throughout Sarcadia, but none can bear me a child.
The Caelestials repeatedly tell me: “These ones are not worthy enough to breed with”.
Their words are cruel but the Caelestials speak only truth.
Perhaps I am to blame, but I know conception of a Sarcadian and Caelestial is possible.
The beings of the Realm of Light speak only truths.
They would not dare lie to their Supreme Lord.
I wed my wives out of necessity, not for love.
Is this why I am unable to sire children?
Perhaps there exists beings even more superior than I who manipulate the fate of all that is.
Perhaps they know what I want, but they deny me for I do not truly love those I have taken as brides.
Do they know I only desire the wombs of my wives, not their hearts?
I have tried to convince myself such powerful entities cannot be real, yet I am evidence of the impossible.
I do desire a family, I truly do, but perhaps love is the key to a successful conception.
I thought I could not love again, not after losing my dear Leesha.
But my hope has been renewed for I have found a new love.
Three days ago, my search brought me to the white-sanded shores of Alibrium.
And there she was.
She wore a white and gold toga with a thin, orange rope tied around her waist.
A bright orange shawl was draped over her right shoulder.
Her skin was as white as the snows of Vorumorsk.
The calm sea breeze brushed her long, wavy chestnut hair.
Her light-hazel eyes were so mesmerising they could sooth the most rabid dire wolf.
She stood barefoot in the sand as small waves lapped gently across her toes.
The sensation made her smile, which caused my heart to flutter.
A feeling I had not felt since I was but a boy whose eyes first fell upon the Shirati Warlord’s daughter.
I watched her from afar for what felt like an hour before I approached her.
She turned around and froze like a statue.
Her mouth was opened wide as if she wanted to speak yet could not find the words.
I noticed the six interlinked rings she wore around her neck.
I greeted her, the words arousing her from her temporary stupor.
She said she was humbled to be in my presence, but it was I who was humbled to be in hers.
I asked her what she was doing on the beach.
She told me she regarded this place as her personal sanctuary.
A place where she could be by herself so she could be herself.
I apologised for interrupting her, but she refused to accept it.
She said she would come here to think of how she could better serve me.
She believed my arrival was proof I had heard her prayers.
We spoke for hours.
My heart played tricks on my mind. I am convinced I could taste honey whenever my ears absorbed her words.
All I wanted her to do was talk and tell me all about herself.
She revealed to me her past, her present and her aspirations for the future.
I was so captivated by her that I realised I had forgotten to ask her the most important question.
I asked for her name.
She indulged me.
A name that has renewed my hopes of becoming whole.
A name that bewitches me whenever I heard it.
A name I shan’t forget.
— “The Atriarch Monologues: A Renewed Hope”, Bruce Boward, 214 AO