I don't remember much of my early childhood. It's mostly a montage of images and emotions, but I do have one that stands out: I remember there was a ball, some sort of party full of courtiers and dignitaries. I was a small child then, my uncle Damocles having paraded me around the room on his shoulders for most of the evening. We laughed and laughed, he introduced me to everyone he could, making me recite the cryptic verses he had taught me every night before bedtime, which I did happily, thinking it all a game. He was beaming with such pride, the guests clearly impressed with the display of prodigious talent.

And then a hush fell over the room. I looked over to the grand staircase, where everyone’s eyes had fallen, and I saw her. She seemed to float. Descending each step with steady, poised, and purposeful grace, a sleek goddess of a woman clad in a gown of spun light and flame… Hair the color of burnished gold, nearly copper, and rich, creamy skin positively glowing in the intimate lighting, pale, haunting eyes surveying her guests as their hushed whispers bore quiet witness to the perfection that was Queen Eurydice l'Astaroth—my mother. My uncle gently set me down, and I looked up into his face. Even as a child I could see it, as plain as the flexing of his strong jaw line and the dark hair on his head; even he was taken aback by her majesty. And I was puzzled, because even back then, my Damocles was a man people feared and respected, a man that no one dared make an enemy of. He was strong, steadfast and kind, but terrifying when he wanted to be, yet here he was, nearly brought to his knees in worship at but a glance of this woman coming down the stairs.

I wanted someone to look at me like that. I wanted to be just like her.

One day when I was older, she and I were walking in the garden, and out of precocious curiosity I asked her, “Why do they love you so much?”

She offered an enigmatic smile and chuckled. “Because butterflies are free,” the Witch-Queen replied. It was a rueful, knowing sort of smirk that spoke volumes, that secret smile she reserved only for me. A smile of mischief and approval and familiar kinship, one of those things that only a mother and daughter could understand.

I thought on these things as I made love to Garrin like a goddess, gazing down into eyes that offered up his very soul, as his body pronounced unceasing worship, and mine, fire made flesh in his arms, vowed eternal bliss.

'Butterflies are free,' I heard my mother's voice replay in my mind.

And so, I was.


A dangerous intellect combine with her singular beauty to give Chalice an edge in most situations where she is faced by an opponent who underestimates her. Calculating and charismatic, she is a cunning student of sorcery gifted with the social finesse and education required to get what she wants out of most people. When gentle persuasion won't suffice, however, the eighteen year-old young woman will not hesitate to use her substantial vocabulary of questionable methods to get the job done.

Daughter of two celebrated war heroes, one of whom is the Witch-Queen of the Rosicrucian Imperium herself, her instructors all agree that Chalice l'Astaroth is destined for greatness.