The Manor’s End

July 2, 2015

Phonographic Journal Transcription #1

‘The Manor’s End’

Recorded: Winter 1880

Transcribed: July 2nd 2015

 

The Glass Manor has been the home to the Gens D’Asur since the day of its inception. Whether it was ever built or not is a matter to be debated. It is more likely that, Ashur De Babylonia thought it into being, and, so it was.

Vast, expansive, opulent, its halls more dayrooms, and garden atriums than classically baroque, or medieval. Ashur fashioned The Glass Manor after the homes of his youth, or so he claims, or so his children claim. Not a soul has seen Ashur De Babylonia since New Babylon cursed his name and the name of his family. Not since the night the City rose up to defy him, and his brazen betrayal.

It was the missive that did it. Intercepted by Anatole’s men, that De Babylonia claimed rights by birth. Rights that, the seneschal would never dream of seeing brought to fruition. Rights that stood between the youth-cursed gens and her genitor’s throne. By rights of birth, or so he says, or so his children says – De Babylonia has always been a mystery. Is he the shadow that once haunted men’s waking nightmares, that flitted just past the fires of night, that stalked homes, slipped beside beds and caressed sleeping cheeks?

Did Ashur De Babylonia, lonely, curious, form of himself a human body, did he slip amongst the men from his shadowy domain, defended from the light by flesh and blood? Was he the first, or one of the many  progressive shadows to place themselves amidst the warmth of the herd and, speak, laugh, arrange his faux features into a mirror image of their own?

Who can say. None but him, and, with the exception of a smile, a wistful longing, he has said nothing. Oh, but his children say.

Rights by birth.

That the true founder of New Babylon was reaching to take back his city, by rights of birth. That he would have them rise, his innocents, his children, the unclaimed, the unwanted, the lost gens that filtered (and still do) through the city streets, strays not yet hounded by the madness of Fenrir’s xenophobic fear of gens without family.

Sanguinem Emere, we say, when we want what we want. Sanguinem Emere, let those with no familial bonds, no relation, no ties and stays be purged. They threaten that which we hold dear. If the calf strays too far from its mother’s side, it must be culled, it must be cut down.

And in that way, De Babylonia, strayed too far. He and his young, ventured away from the strictures of law, and were … culled. And the City saw that it was good. What is left, lies, so they say, in a tomb, where not even his children may find him. So they say.

But De Babylonia’s legacy is long, and D’Asur long for their former glory, like rats gnawing at the skirting boards.

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