Normal voices in dreams should be muffled rather than sharp and innate. Such as of the many nightmares that had plagued Alve for years, the contention and the struggle. Her would be tormentors, two in fact. One, female, soft yet stern. The male, gruff but controlled. They were arguing again like children. A vivid ripple of how Alve fought at times with Arlou. They reminded her of siblings, had Urda taken away their toys.

“We should wait…” the female breathed.

“–And have everyone surprise her? She will feel ill…” the male debated.

They were whispers. Like Alvenrade, ghosts but with strength and eth, to how eth should feel to one who could not use it. And they were always there when Alve ate meat. Not that they can discourage her from consuming such rare meals. But often, when Alve thought she was fuller, she was transported in the dank, cold, and concrete halls of the old palace.

As she stood in the hallway, her sleeping gown, her clothing, Alve checked the cloudless sky beyond the windows. Sunlight was also absent, like the season at the south that never changes, stilled between the break of dawn and dusk. She did not feel the velvet carpet beneath her toes, but she was sure they were dusty and worn.

“But she is not ready…”

“She will never be… At least knowing will let her be smarter…”

The two went on as Alve started her familiar walk. She had not bothered to anticipate what was further out of her sight. The hallway never had any twists or turns. Or no end. It kept on and on, till her body wanted to wake and rise for another lonely day. Although the mysterious world she was in felt desolate, she was more at home–regardless of the two voices not being at peace.

Alve can be prostrated to meat. Fortunately, she had grown not to be a glutton, her oats and fruits diet made sure of that. Her reason to worship the delicacies was a wall of grapevines. They could never know, Alve had magnificently made the scheme, that she wanted to be here. In the never ending hallway. With the voices bickering about decisions she should make. To have their advice. To be heard at their will. And to suffer her bleeding vomit the next day.

No one can know, Alve smiled at herself. That despite being ethless, the Chrovan Thra thrashed in her sleep.

The two beings of strength and wisdom, only one wielded by the Blesseds, were present in the Acolyte of Chustern. Her father, Alve was sure, although he had not shared to anyone how the goddess’ gift worked, that the voices were Thrava, the life, the female, the kind. And Thradin, the death, the male, the vigilant. Put two together and they were Thravadin, the goddess’ face of Chustern.

It was the most selfish thing Alve did. One she did not wish to share with her brother, or Urda, to her Masters, or to the King for that matter. The power was the very first she believed that was naturally hers.

She looked different from her relatives. Her curly black hair and mystical emerald eyes had taken away her desires when they wanted her born. Being pale and sickly trapped her in the walls of the old palace. Her stark kidnapping and rising from the grave propelled her to the same withering dance pattern of her life as a hidden princess. As a phantom like Alvenrade. As a desolate canvas the painter had lost interest.

Perhaps one could hate the great goddess if they were in this kind of plight. But Alve could never hate her. Enthah, although rigid and practical in the ways of her realm, she had not abandoned her. The goddess had given her Thrava and Thradin, and Alvenrade and Walkre.

Another slight thought came to her, Where was Alvenrade? As Alve made note to find her ghost when she wakes up, she finally decided to ask what Thrava and Thradin were bickering about.

“Thradin, you wish to share something with me?” she asked the favoring male.

Alve could hear Thrava’s defeated sigh. “If I may?” she asked her brother. As the gentle one to speak up, Alve’s gut told her the news was either dangerous or too precocious. Thrava was best suited to explain complicated things to a child.

“You may…” Alve felt Thradin grin.

“Your father has made many plans…” Thrava started.

King Arleous had many plans. But because the Chrovan Thra also resides within her father’s thoughts, the two would share away with Alve. Alve basically gets the first word of her father’s agendas.

“For you…” she added.

Alve’s mouth would have buttoned-up had she been awake. Her fair stride across the dream hall however was broken. Alve wanted to turn towards where the voices were but she can never find even eyes to converse to.

Her father has made plans for her?

“Dear precious Alvedaima, it seems fate wants to make changes again for you…”

“Fate is inconsequential Alvedaima. It is up to you to decide what path you will take…” Alve had liked Thradin more. His gumptions always made her want to do more.

“But always be wary…” Thrava prodded, wanting her ward not to be careless nonetheless.

Alve loved them both of course. She appreciated their push and pull. They were more parents than her actual father could ever be. “I will, Thrava.”

“Since you have aged, a debut has been arranged…”

Alve belted her arms around her belly. The words pelting her into confusion.

“A debut? I’m not even allowed to pass charon walls, let alone attend an official gathering.”

Somehow, Alve felt sadness from her delicate guardian. “We are aware… it's just that your father believes the High Adjunct has his plans…”

“It was him who had offered a debut amongst the incoming celebrations to be held after the Summit…” Thradin inserted bitterly.

Alve had fond memories when it came to his uncle and his cousins. The loathing between the Chrovan Thra and the High Adjunct made her uncomfortable. They were always cynical with the right hand man of the King.

“So?” Alve eased, barely managing her tone to avoid any crossfire. “I will never be invited, nor be recognized. I’m dead to Chustern already!”

“It was better for you to know than not be at all…” Thrava admitted her own agreement to her brother’s ideas.

“Father and uncle’s fight will never make sense.” Alve confessed her own thoughts as she sauntered forward to wherever the neverending hall took her.

“There is more…” Thradin was the proxy this time. “In light of the High Adjunct’s movements, your father decided you will have a lady in waiting…”

Alve jerked and stopped like she hit a wall. Her grapevine wall. Pain gurgled inside her stomach and she realized her time in her nightmare was not long. The thought of having a lady in waiting however bolstered her grip in the dreamscape. Alve enveloped her belly tighter this time.

“Who?” The question made her buckle her knees and fall to the floor. Pain was worming and building at her side.

“Liege House Grafan wishes to be at your service…” Alve never knew who had answered her as she burst from bed and peeled her insides onto the chamber pot. Red liquid slipped from her mouth and into the bedding as she burst at the utility.

Her morning was the relinquishing of her beloved brisket, but Alve did not regret one spit. The pain and the drenching of her saliva and sweat could not compete with the joy of gaining a lady in waiting. Her new chance to gain a friend.