The year is 1340.

The surface dwellers call this the Year of the Lion.  I am uncertain what this lion creature is.  I presume it is some noble and proud looking beast whose pelt would as easily adorn my wall as any lizard or other denizen of the night-city.  At the very least I trust it would adorn my bedchambers and warm me as I sleep.

My two daughters are my blessing and curse.  Neither and both at the same time.  There is little use to identify either as the First or Second Daughter.  One would as likely kill the other and leave me less a daughter.  Still, it shall happen one ever-night, and our house shall be diminished.

The ruins of Freth are mine.  The great noble houses were only too pleased to relinquish their hold on this ruin.  Strange that none desired it before now.  Perhaps the rumors of the ghosts that wander its even darker halls have the barest ring of truth.

I've my own ghosts to bury, of course.  The death of my beloved house wizard, at the hands of my own son, are a menace to the rumors of the city.  The local massage parlors and planting circles all speak of our house, of our rise, and of the threat of power unprotected… or unbidden.  Dyan'ette, you will die above the world in the sun-reaches, and you will never look upon our beautiful dark holds again.  You shall never see the spires of Sorcere.  You will never be admitted to the halls of the divine, to take your proper place as a sacrifice to our dear spider-queen.

The spiders dance about our halls.  They sense our growing power.  Is it a sign of the favor of the one true goddess, Lloth?  Time will tell.