My name isn't Sibowen. Of course it's not. What kind of mother would name her daughter "Darkness"? But don't imagine I will tell you my name, either. It's the same with my face. I wear a mask for good reason. No, I won't show it to you. You haven't earned it and you wouldn't like it anyway. Even I can't stand it.
I suppose that's a large part of what drew me to the Tezirites, and the moon mage guild. I want to bend light and shadow to my will, and their mirrors don't reflect me as I am. No one cares what hidden power looks like. And I am intimately familiar with curses and the dark.
Everyone said I was cursed from birth, even my mother, though she loved me anyway. She blamed herself for my ugly face with its awful birthmark. She taught me by candlelight in the evenings so no one would be out to see and torment me with rocks, or threaten to burn our house down. I learned to sleep in the day and work by firelight and the light of the moons. I learned to hide, and the value of silence. In the last place we lived, the neighbors didn't even know I existed.
My stepfather knew, though, and he hated me. I was only tolerated because I could work at night when things would have otherwise been idle, freeing my mother to help him outdoors during the day. One day was too much, and after months of saying he was going to cut the mark off my face, he decided to try. My screams brought the neighbors, who couldn't tell blood from Be'ort's Curse, and separated us.
The house burned down that night. No one is sure how it happened. The neighbors were dealing with a blood-soaked eleven year old and others said they dragged my stepfather off to the nearest guardpost. Maybe it was a stray ember from the unattended fireplace. Maybe someone set it deliberately. Maybe it was just another god-given curse, destroying the last of my childhood.
The lady patched me up, but my stepfather told everyone I was a thief and they turned me out, my face and arms still wrapped in bandages. They had, after all, never seen me before. Some do-gooder from the Rowan Branch monastery took me in for awhile. But things happened, and I refused to worship with the rest of them and even they turned me out. Since then I've wandered, by night of course, and eventually found my way here. Maybe the stupid Gypsies were right, and it was fate.
There is no happy ending to this story. Not yet. My wounds healed, but poorly, and at this point the scars resist even empathic healing. I keep my scars covered and one day, when I am strong enough, I will have my revenge on all those who hurt me. Every one. Take care that you are not one of them. Every cut, every rock, every horrified glance will be paid back fully. This, I swear.
One thing I won't swear to, though. I never promised you the unvarnished truth, only that I would tell my story. Perhaps if you can unravel the fabric of my tale and patch together the truths that even I can't discern...then perhaps you are someone special.
I doubt it.
~ S. E.
Sibowen has a delicate but disfigured face with a huge wine-stain birthmark dominating one side, dark lashes framing mismatched eyes, one void black and one cat-slitted amber and a petite but deeply scarred nose. Her Katamba-black hair is waist-length and layered in shining waves, and is worn tied back in an elegant chignon held in place by a lightning-etched silver haircomb crested by a cluster of preserved negeri blossoms. She has profound laceration scars upon pallid skin and a waifish figure. She is gracefully elevated for an Elothean.
You see Sibowen Eilsinna, an Elothean
Her features are hidden behind a tarnished silver mask of a young Elothean woman with an imperious visage.
She is wearing a delicate animite circlet firestained with dark swirls, a floor-length black silk veil trimmed with tone-on-tone silk, a moonsilver pendant, an enveloping hooded cloak of somber black dergatine, an angular iron heart pin, a watersilk kimono-style dress with gracefully trailing bell sleeves, an elegant pair of long wrist wraps swathed in dark nightsilk, some black lace fingerless gloves edged in Elven snowlace, a blackwater jet shesegri ring interspersed with vengeance ruby chips, a wide silver ring set with an eventide moonstone disc, some misty grey gossamer stockings overlaid with black tulle and a pair of black velvet slippers with flexible leather soles.