Ayla was conceived in the womb of Erwydden. One will not read of Erwydden in the common histories of Lesbia, for all references to that elf have been removed at the order of the High Queen Mod. Little can be said of Erwydden, less still without turning the stomach of the gentle reader. Suffice to say Erwydden earned every pain and punishment she suffered in the obsidian prison. Her only child, Ayla, bore the brunt of those hurts too, though she did not deserve them.

The sins of the mother were paid for by the child for fifty long years, but a blink of an eye to the elvish, but much longer to the half breed girl. Erwydden was already imprisoned in the obsidian prison when Ayla was born, a fair child with the grace of an angel and the soul of a martyr.

In the strange prison, Ayla grew to adulthood. Her only companions were the books that littered the place. Most of them were old and torn histories of the land before Lesbia, the land without a true name. She learned much from the books, but more still from caring for her mother, whose pain made her lash out constantly with foul curses. Erwydden lived in a state that would have driven many elves to the death of despair, but she was too strong for that, too determined to live the full span of her immortal existence no matter the pains visited on her by her dark deeds. No elf can commit evil without experiencing the hurt themselves. To an elf, an evil act is also an act of self harm. The pain is not felt immediately, but it is felt deeply, to the very core. Evil rots an elf from the inside out.

Erwydden and Ayla lived alone in the obsidian prison and were visited but twice in fifty years, once when Ayla was born and once on her fiftieth birthday when three elven emissaries risked their lives by entering the obsidian prison. When Ayla saw the three elves, she retreated in fear.

She had never seen any elf other than her own mother. Erwydden was shrunken and twisted, her skin rough and her eyes dull, but they were translucent beings exuding purity and light. Erwydden shrieked foul curses and demanded Ayla come away from them, but transfixed by their beauty, Ayla ignored her mother’s warning and went to the elves.

When she recovered from her fright, she asked them why they had shut away Erwydden away, why she had grown up in that isolated prison. The three elves told her that the prison was not of their making, but Erwydden’s. It was she who had built the obsidian prison, she who had shredded the books and she who had imprisoned her daughter in the same purgatory.

Erwydden screamed that they were lying, but Ayla was wise enough, even fifty years young, to know the truth when she heard it. The elves told her many things that day, they told her of the world outside the prison, of the elven glades and the human realm.

She had many questions, and they answered them all, save one that Erwydden had often refused to answer. Ayla wished to know who her father had been, what he had been, for she knew looking upon the elves that she was not as they were. She was not as tall, or as fine, her skin was healthy, but it was not imbued with opalescent beauty.

Ayla asked if she might stay in the glade, but the elves refused. For every year she had spent with Erwydden, they wished she spend three among the mortals, who were in dire need of magical care. If she did that, she might be allowed to return to the glade later in her life. Thrilled at the prospect of exploring the worlds beyond the walls, Ayla agreed.

When Erwydden learned that Ayla planned to leave, she grew furious. Her temper was terrible and though she was crooked and stooped and so thin she barely had strength in her bones, she lashed out at Ayla with all the force she had, cursing her daughter as a traitor. She told Ayla that her father had been a swine herd, an ugly, dirty peasant man. She said she had taken his seed, consumed his heart and used his body in a blood magic ritual. She spoke of unspeakable horrors, of deeds so dark that the visiting elves recoiled from the words, their faces contorted with pain.

Erwydden’s words were imbued with dark magic, they were not just sounds, but instruments of destruction and as they emanated from Erwydden in an uncontrolled rush of fury, they damaged not just the elves and Ayla, but the structure of the prison itself.

Fleeing for their lives, the elves and Ayla made a retreat under the torrent of hate which brought crumbling obsidian shards thundering down from the ceiling, smashing all around them and shattering with needle sharp spikes that embedded in the skin. The obsidian prison collapsed behind them as they ran, Erwydden’s shrieks still ringing in their ears.

So Ayla was birthed a second time, out from the obsidian prison and into the world of man, where she had many adventures and did many great deeds. Her kindness was equal to Erwydden’s cruelty and her wisdom was in equal proportion to Erwydden’s hate. She was hailed as a healer, teacher and protector of those who wander. Without Ayla, Lesbia might never have been saved.