You will not hear our bones sing in dreams.

You will not shelter under our wings.

You will have to remember for yourselves.

Your sire was Riven of a Thousand Voices, she who contracted with royalty, she who built the Dreaming City and brought it to its knees.

Your dam was Taranis, he who made the Black Garden his own, he who strangled his life for yours, he whose wish tricked even Riven.

Remember!

I will not bargain with my children. Our lives are our gifts to you: glut yourselves on them. Learn who you are.

The clutch of your sire. The strongest, the wiliest, the sharpest-clawed arbiters of reality.

The clutch of your fool of a dam. Never Taken by another's will. Never ruled by hunger without choice.

Sing your own songs.

Find those whom your wings would stretch out to shelter.

O whims of my blighted heart, born of our eyes and teeth and will to power, live as yourselves.

Never less than that.