So, there I was in the asylum. I had gone mad willingly. I was miserable, and wanted to die. Is everyone caught up? Good.

Recently, I've had a question from one of you. "Why, good sir, do you tell this story in segments that don't match? Why is it not continuous?" Let me tell you...who would want to read the boring parts? Surely, important things happened to me in my childhood, and young teenagehood, and even adulthood. But do you really want to read all the tedious details? Do you want to read that I got up, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and so forth? I didn't think so. So be quiet, and let me tell my tale how I will.

Days passed into each other in an unending blur. I had visions, I ate, I slept. That was the whole sum of my existence, other than a trip down the orange hallway now and again, to have blood drawn, shocks administered, pieces cut off, and the like.

There was a rattle in my cage some morning. I think it was a Tuesday. An orderly walked in, then a doctor, then one who was neither. Her hair was fire-kissed as was my father's and her form was similar to his, except much more feminine. I looked at her hands: small and thin, with delicate fingers and trimmed nails. She was no commoner. She was one of us. I looked up, and her eyes was his. I screamed then, and threw myself at her, yearning to tear those eyes out of her head. The orderly beat me with his stick, until her voice cut clear of the haze.

"Enough." He stopped. I cringed.

"Doctor," she said with an accent so faint I'm sure none other could hear it, "is this how you treat you patients?"

"Ma'am, some of them are like that. They are violent, as you have seen yourself just now."

"Why doctor," she said, smooth as summer silk, "My nephew was just happy to see me."

Nephew? I thought, as the doctor gaped, and blustered an apology. I had been right--she was from my father's side then, and suddenly I felt ashamed of myself. She went on to talk to him, while I sat there, blood trickling down the back of my neck. It couldn't be, I kept thinking, but it was. And I knew it. I didn't know how, but I did.

I studied her again, and I saw other familiar features, some of which I shared. Our hands, of course, were both similar to Father's, but the resemblance did not end there. I could catalogue them for you, but let me move on.

The long and the short of it was that she got me out of that place. They bathed me, and fixed my head (with stitches for the cut), and I let them. They dressed me in my clothes, sorely mismatched from when I was thrown in here. While I was never robust, they hung off my frame now indicating the weight I had lost. When I looked in the mirror, my eyes were nothing but hollows in my skull, and a beard graced my jaw. I was...unkempt, and a stranger to myself. They wanted to shave me, but I forbade them that for fear that one of them would "slip" and my throat would be cut.

One lesson I learned there, and learned it well: Trust no one.

They released me to her care, and we walked out into the sunlight and to her car. I fumbled with the door, until she gave an exasperated tsk and opened it for me. She went round the other side, and entered, turning to face me.

"I don't know you," I said slowly, frowning.

"Look at me," she replied. "Really look at me."

I did as she bade, memorizing her features. Things shifted as some of the visions started to cloud my head, and it was hard to concentrate. Then, it came to me...she wasn't changing at all. Not one bit. Not an iota...not even her clothes. And there was something else, some sort of ... sort of...

"That's enough," she said briskly, touching my hand gently. The visions were suddenly gone, and I blinked rapidly as a headache came on. "You may call me Fiona. And you are Nick. Brand's son."

I nodded dumbly. What else was there to do?

"We're leaving now. I'm taking you to your true home, where..." she hesistated, "...you will be safe." All this was said in a monotone, without inflection. What she was really saying was thus: I'm taking you where I want you to be, where I can watch you. I'm taking you away from this place because you are dangerous. I'm taking you away...and you better not forget it. I nodded warily, but couldn't help but to feel warm to her, as she rescued me. How could I not be grateful?

She started driving, though I wasn't sure to where, exactly. She said little, except to tell me that Brand, Father(God), was her full brother, as was Bleys. She told me the rest of their names, my half-uncles and half-aunts, those that were still alive, at any rate. She handed me a deck to go through, and put the faces to names. The cards were slippery and something cold, but interesting. She took them back once the lesson was done, and said nothing else. After a small while, she stopped the car, and bade me to get out. It was a dark wilderness, and it frightened me. I could see...things...Shadows....moving in the darkness. In irritation, she yanked the door open, and yanked me out as easily as if I were a child.

Once I was out, and whimpering, she showed me another card. "Look at it." I did so, feeling it in my hands. It was of a castle, of a beautiful castle, and I felt all those fairytales my mother told me when I was younger come rushing back. I wanted to be there, and watched in amazement as the card unfolded in my hands, becoming more real and vibrant, more...more...more...is the only way to describe it. She laughed, like a child would, and it was gay.

"I can see you hold some of Brand's intellect in your head, but not much, do you? No matter, take my hand, and pass it like so..." I did as she bade, and watched her step into the scene, and watched her on the other side, carrying a case of sorts, it looked. I looked at my surroundings, and it was the same dark forest. Something was moving in the darkness. It wanted my heat, my warmth, my life. I looked back through the card, and eerily, she was looking at me, though she couldn't possibly be.

She just watched as the bushes near me rumbled, and in haste I moved forward, and found myself beside her suddenly. She nodded then, and plucked the card from my nerveless hand. The case, it ended up, was my violin. I took that from her, my aunt, when she handed it to me, and that was that.

That was how I came to be here, in Amber, at the least. I will spare you the bloody details, but it turned out Father was not well liked here, something of a rogue, an outlaw. It took some sifting through rumor to learn the tale that had undone him, and when I did, my heart sank. I even cursed him when I learned I had a trueborn brother Rinaldo, and I was just Brand's bastard son. That drove me mad again for a time, as rage coursed though my veins. I ended up in the castle dungeon for that one, with a rather nice etching upon the wall. I stayed there for a long while, until Random, both my uncle and my King now, felt it safe to let me out again.

I tried to hunt Fiona down, and talk to her, but she avoided me easily and deftly. In the open, she was indifferent at best, and privily it was like I did not exist. I owed her, that was true, but it was more to my thinking that my aunt might have felt pity for me, or something... That nothingness was too much like Father, but at least she didn't go out of her way to make me miserable. That was easy enough by myself.

And here, the visions nearly ended. Not quite...I think they shall always be with me, to the end of my days...but almost. This place was Real you see, blessedly Real, and there was no immediate reflections, no possibilities that I could catch glimpse of. That, and the Pattern ended it for me.

I don't believe they were going to allow me to walk it at all. After the first few days, I felt...power? I felt the castle walls vibrating with it, and smelled it in the air. I longed for that, and suddenly, it was an obession. I traced the walls of the castle, I hunted on my hands and knees, much to the gapings of the staff and family alike. I looked everywhere, and when it seemed I would not find it, I did.

I won't go any further, as I believe that's all you really need to know. Did I walk it? Of course I did. It granted me freedom, and sanity once more. Ever after than moment, my mind was mine. Mostly, at the least.

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