I am a Mage. My True Name is lost in history; and, rightly so, since anyone who knew my True Name could have power over me to some extent. You might have heard of some of the names others have given me. Anzor, Belzebub, Mearlynn. Some have called me Sorcerer or even Demon. Yet most consider me to be a wise, old man - old only because there are streaks of silver among the black hairs of head and beard.

One thing I have amassed in my seventeen centuries of life is a collection of tales and stories. I've watched as through the years, these tend to change with the mores and morals of the people. Religion plays a part in this but so-called civilized thinking has done more. This is such a story I head long ago from the bright red lips of a beautiful young queen. You might have heard it before. But not I suspect from the lips of the one who lived it. Nor did the events happen quite as you may have heard. I've also altered some things such as locations and historical names. That is because I wish the tale to remain a tale.

Long ago as these stories tend to be, a young wife was in labor giving birth to her firstborn. Her husband's anxiety was warranted considering the hours she was in labor and the passage of midwives to and fro from the birthing chamber. The hall was rather cold as stone halls tend to be during winters in Europe. The husband, Lord Ralph, was finally forced to sit and eat some broth by the old cook. She had been there from the beginning when Ralph's grandfather had been Lord. The Manor had grown much since then but she still remained. Now she ministered to her Lord. But even if he was almost twenty and seven, he was still her child. Finally she went to check on how the birth was progressing. When she returned, he read it in her eyes. His Lady had died. The baby was fine, however. A cute cuddly baby girl. Even in his sorrow, he loved his little girl and named her for his former wife, Ella.

Lord Ralph mourned for his wife for nearly two years. But about mid year, he decided to attend a ball that King Oscar was holding in celebration of his son's eighth birthday. It was at the ball that he met Lady Barbara. Slim and dark, she appealed to him right from the start. After a bit of social talk, he found out that she was raising two daughters of her own. That appealed to him. He inquired about Lady Barbara's family and social situation. While not from as noble a position as his own, he found that her former husband had been Lord Bryan. He didn't inquire further but commenced his courtship. Foolish men do foolish things. And even the wisest can be foolish when they're courting a lovely woman.

Nearly a week after the wedding, Lord Ralph began hearing rumors about Lady Barbara. Some said she was low born. Others that she practiced Dark Rituals. And there were rumors that her former husband had died other than from disease. Lord Ralph chose to ignore these rumors. Then one morning five years later, he woke with a pain in his side. As the day progressed, the pain became worse. No one could figure what was the root cause of Lord Ralph's mysterious malady. Two days later, everyone - servants, physicians, even the old cook - were put out of Lord Ralph's bedchamber. Lady Barbara smiled when she approached her husband.

"How are you feeling, my Darling Husband?" she inquired sweetly. Something about her voice gave him pause. It was almost as if she hated him. Then his eyes widened as the truth dawned. Whether or not any of the other rumors was genuine, her first husband had positively died from non-natural causes. Another bout of coughing held him in thrall so he barely heard her next words. But he understood that it was his moneys and estates that she had been after. Her former husband's moneys had about run out when she had met him at the ball. As she talked on and on, he found out more about her than he wanted to know.

Born to a trollop with no knowledge of her father, Barbara had learned how to survive nearly the same time as she had learned to walk. She would have suffered the same fate as her mother had not a kindly priest taken her in. As she neared eight, she found that he wasn't so kind. Although a priest, he liked little girls but only until she started to mature whereupon she would have been thrown out. Unfortunately for him, a blade mysteriously appeared in his upper back severing his spinal column. He could neither speak nor move. Since she was still a little girl, the Church continued her upbringing until at the age of fifteen, she had run away. When she was young, it had not been hard stealing a crust or apple. Now her targets were bigger game. But she knew that a rope would end this vocation soon enough so sat her sights on other means for support. About this time she chanced on an elderly gentleman who took her to keep his final years active. Active they were for his last few months though she remained quite chaste. Before the body was cool, she stole as much as she could carry and left the country. She called herself Lady Barbara when she had arrived in the Kingdom of Perth. Claiming that her former husband, Duke Darby, had been killed by ruffians before they had crossed the border, she managed to enter the circle of the nobility. It wasn't long before she came to the attention of Sir David Kingsley. They were married; and, after three years had two daughters. However, though she loved her daughters, Marta and Bernice, dearly, she couldn't stand their father. Since he had few servants, it wasn't difficult to secrete a bit of poison daily. Finally he died horribly.

Which Lord Ralph did soon thereafter.

What Lady Barbara failed to notice - indeed was unaware of - was her foster daughter's presence in a secret passage inside the walls of the Manor. Soon-to-be Lady Ella had heard everything. But what is a little girl of seven to do? Her foster sisters were older and her foster mother cared less for her than the fleas on her dogs. But though only seven, the little girl's heart burned with hate for the one who had taken her father away.

Year followed year. The little girl grew older until she was twelve. Then thirteen. Her foster mother and sisters treated her less and less as a relative and more and more like the servant she was becoming. A few cuffs from her foster mother had taught little Ella to suffer stoically. And when she was alone, the old butler and cook taught her her letters and cooking and reading and sewing and anything they could do to take her mind from the drudgery the three foster relatives put her through. When the old butler died, the foster mother hired a younger one who was less kind. The old cook finally retired to one of the local farms nearby. But Ella was forbidden to ever go there. Almost all of the original servants were let go and new ones hired in their place. And all the new servants treated her kindly whenever the foster relatives were not visible. That is all save the butler who considered her little more than a servant of the House. And as Ella observed more than once, the butler was quite entertaining in bed.

No more was Ella the Princess of the Manor. Her bedroom was moved again and again until she was relegated to the fourth floor in a drafty room. Formerly used as a sewing room by a seamstress long gone, it was little more than a large closet. Her foster sisters had more closet room than Ella had bedroom. But she seldom slept there because of the winter drafts and occasional snow that covered her tick infested mattress. At night she would bank the fire in the large cooking fireplace. The old cook had taught her how. And the new cook did not mind her sleeping near the warm embers because Ella would waken and start the fire once again before the everyone else was moving about. And even though she barely remembered birthday parties with her father, she always sang or whistled a tune when she thought of their life before.

This went on for years until one day a servant brought a message to Lady Barbara. King Oscar had decided to have a ball to celebrate his son's twenty-first year. Lady Barbara and her daughters were invited. Rumors had it that the young Prince expected to find a Bride at the ball. Marta and Bernice were beside themselves with joy and preparation.

Ella had turned sixteen a month earlier and reasoned rightly that she should be permitted to go to the ball as well. (For indeed, her name was on the invitation.) But as was her want, Lady Barbara refused saying she was much too young, too ugly to ever be permitted that luxury. And as the day progressed, Ella felt herself so much alone that she went to the stables. There she felt comfortable and the horses wouldn't mind an occasional tear or two.

But she wasn't there two minutes when a voice asked her what was the matter. She looked around but saw no one. Perhaps it was one of the horses who spoke (though in her heart, she knew this was not possible). She explained about the ball and how she couldn't go. The voice told her to go wash up and return after her foster kin had departed. She did so removing the grit and grim of several years of sleeping near the warm coals. And when she returned, she found the old cook and a younger woman (the old cook's granddaughter). They had sewed a dress for her - a dress of blue and white with underthings of the finest silks. There was a small coach of white which had been used only once for the young Prince when he was twelve and four white horses to pull it with. The former servants acted as footman and driver. They did warn her to return at a reasonable hour so as to avoid dire consequences from Lady Barbara.

To King Oscar's ball they flew. Ella arrived at a quarter to eight. Late but fashionably late. And from the first, the Prince was taken with her. They danced again and again into the night. Once in a while she glanced at her foster mother and sisters who danced but rarely and never with the Prince. She was absorbed in the moment as the two danced once again. The clock had turned one when she saw her foster mother rise and put on her shawl.

She stopped!

Not a moment to lose.

She ran as fast as she could to the little white couch. But the steps were too many and her feet too tired from the dancing. She slipped and fell losing one of her fur-covered shoes. Starting back, she saw the Prince following after. She decided half shod was better than being caught and so leaped into the coach which fled into the night. The Prince was left with a fur-covered shoe with a broken heel.

He brought it to me.

At the time I was staying with King Oscar and his Queen, Mildred. They provided me with food and shelter for the winter, while I provided entertainment and fun.

Besides I enjoyed talking and, to a certain extent teaching Prince Mayer. We were pretty good friends by this time which was why he brought the shoe and his story to me. I looked at the shoe from several positions. Whomever she was, she had a very narrow foot, I remember muttering. Since I had been experimenting with creating crystal skulls, I reasoned that creating a crystal replica of this shoe would be easy enough. I was prudent enough not to mention that I had made crystal shoes for a few women of my acquantance while learning to cast skulls. Nice women they were. To me at least. I liked to refer to them as my Ladies of the Evening and would have mentioned that to Prince Mayer. But even then I retained common sense. I could have used plastic, I suppose. But that would have caused no end of trouble in the Space-Time Continuum.

With only one cast each , I created two crystal duplicates.