Marcy Portia Alexander Tarrish
Marcy Portia Alexander Tarrish, head of the third family to the king of Portasia, had the most perfect of all requests fall into her lap. Her brother, the great James Portia Alexander XIV, was the head of the second family of the King of Portasia. He had requested a medium to tell them exactly what he could do to give their only child a future. He needed to find out what steps he should take to provide their family name with a rightful descendant line.
She sat in the Alexander palace, one that was supposed to be hers. However, because she was born second, it went to her brother. In their society, only the firstborn child of a family could inherit the familial wealth. All other children would receive a small stipend until they either married into another family or founded their own descendant line, after which point they would be cut off.
This is the way of the world, and so it fell to Marcy, as the second eldest child of the Alexander children, to find her own way in high society. Thankfully, being a child of the second family in all the kingdom meant she would have her pickings.
At the age of 18, in order to maintain her elite lifestyle, she had felt no choice other than to marry into the third family. Her groom was the eldest son, Gerrick Tarrish. Normally, usurping another family's head by leveraging your own familial rank was frowned upon. Being from the second family placed her marital position higher than that of Gerrick. However, her nephew's birth had shaken the continent.
That very same nephew, who now doomed the Alexander family, had been her lifeboat to some flagging amount of power and authority. It was thus eighteen years later, to Marcy’s delight, that her elder brother had summoned her to his palace. And here she sat in the familial chair of the second most regal sitting room in the country. All while her brother and sister-in-law begged for her to do a reading of her dear nephew.
“A proposterious ideas,” Marcy said. Her words echoed through the hall. “ Why would I waste my time reading that vegetable's mind. He is good for nothing and a rotting waste of our family's power.”
“Marcy,” James pleaded. “Can you at least give us something. It is his 18th birthday in one years time. If we do not figure out what his plans are for the family, we will have no choice but to exile him from the family name. And I can’t bear raising a new heir in his place.”
“And would that be so bad?” Marcy replied. The Alexanders shrank back at her words. The staff in the room briefly exchanged looks.
“I know your true thoughts of our son,” James said. He and his wife dropped to their knees. His voice was slightly muffled as his forehead rested upon the floor. “All we ask of you is that you give him a reading. And tell us what his decision is. I know that up until this point, the only time you had allowed it was his birth. But for your big brother, could you please give us this one last chance?”
Marcy took a good, long pause. Her eyes flicked to the servants standing around the room, their faces tense; then to the ornate and large palatial lounge she was sitting in. She admired the rug beneath her feet. From Xaxarbinia, a country far to the north at the edge of the explored realms, that carpet alone would cost what many citizens make in their entire lives. The amount of wealth her brother had astounded her. And to think that this could have been hers. That this man threw every bit of station and regard to the wind for a single child who could not contribute one ounce of profit to his family. What a waste. To think that her adorably inept brother would prostrate himself to her.
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Just then, a thought crossed her mind, and a barely perceptible smirk crossed her face. No one in the room noticed, but Marcy had a devious thought. Whether it was for the pity she held towards her younger brother, or contempt for her being the second child, she decided to accept her brother's offer. She would rob him. The odds of these two successfully raising another child at their old age are, even with the aid of the best healers, low. She would have this fortune.
“As you stated before, you will give me the entire Western wing of the Palace? Once I give you this last reading?” Marcy asked in last minute confirmation.
“The entire west wing, my dear sister. And we will throw in 10 thousand gold coins.” James replied. His forehead still rested on the floor.
What a sum, Marcy thought. It is good that this space and money would not go to waste and stagnation. That she could reclaim at least some part of her previous prestige. To have a wing of the Alexander Palace. That alone would be a social boon. But to also have ten thousand gold coins, a sum that could pay for entire countries. This would be an opportune time. And so, with a sigh, she seized a foot back into the door of the second family.
“Bring me to him!” The woman exclaimed, her plump frame quickly stood. She walked to the edge of the room. “And brother, no need for you to come with me. It'll be but a moment, and I will return with my reading.”
Resolutely, she followed the servants that lead her through winding hallways. Up, down, through various twisting levels of the palace, fifteen minutes had passed. They made their way into the eastern wing. She felt a brief presence wash past her perception; it was but a blip on her senses. By the time they arrived at the room in question, all but Marcy heaved with deep breaths. Astonished and drained faces met hers as the servants opened the doors to the room.
For all the disdain she held towards her Nephew, she couldn’t help but heave a deep, wallowing sigh as she entered the room. It was pristine and immaculate, a room for its occupant. She knew nothing about her nephew except that every time she saw him, a slight stab of waste panged through her chest. The end of the descendant line of Alexander.
She walked slowly to the side of the bed. Aside from the men and women along the walls watching him, she was alone. With a calm and taught face, she looked closely at her nephew. For all his worthlessness and wasted potential. Even though he was like a painful stone that stood in her path, her nephew looked like a doll inside of a brand new box. He was precious. A porcelain face that held no emotion. He had long, flowing brown hair that felt like silk. Aside from being slightly gaunt with lack of use, he was well fed and well nourished. It was a noble type of gaunt. His face was striking. He had a perfect nose that, while taking up a good portion of his face, did not domineer over the rest of his features. If not for his condition, his parents would have to peel the bachelor maidens off of him. Not even a wrinkle, nor cut, nor blemish covered his face.
The most brilliant heart-stealing aspect, were his eyes. While still and unfocused, each iris was a vibrant white. She felt that if he were truly awake and aware of the world, they would surely glow.
“Oh dear,” Marcy said to herself. Her voice had a slight emotional quiver. A tear slowly rolled down her face as she brushed her hand across his cheek. “I wish things could have been different for you. For the world around you is so vibrant, and you have been trapped like a bird in a cage.”
While every person in this world was capable of wielding magic, one could only wield one specific kind in their lifetime. For Marcy, that ability was a closely kept secret. She often refered to herself as a simple medium. A psychic who could divine and communicate with those beyond. In actuality, her abilities were in regards to that of the soul. Her power did not have a name, though she often referred to it as soul touch. By just being in the proximity of somebody, she was able to make contact with their soul and divine the truth about them. She could peer into their emotions, could look at who they were, and most important of all, could see if they were telling the truth.
For the second time in her life, she looked into the soul of her young nephew. She was the only person to ever get a sense that he was in there. The first time had been to make sure he was alive. And now this time, she read to say goodbye to him. To be exiled from a family is to be exiled from the world. One would not die, but they might as well be dead. In a normal situation, he would be allowed to leave the kingdom alone. But in his condition, he would be locked in this room forever, only receiving the most minimal amount of care. Not that it would be much different from his current existence.
As much as she wanted to stand at the top, as much as she wanted power and wealth, she could not ostracize her family, not even this frail doll of a boy. Her eyes opened wide as another soul brushed back at hers.