Weeks passed. My family appeared more publicly than ever in what I later realise was an attempt to change public opinion. To make people like us again. I, in particular, was put on parade. After all, I was a mere child, nine years old and cute as a button with glossy silver hair and wide eyes. I could remind the people of Silvera that MindWeavers, too, were human.

My parents debated long into the night about these appearances.

"I don't want her on parade in front of people who would rather kill her than smile at her." Father told Grandfather.

"She's not some tool for power." My mother agreed. "I don't want her caught up in these games."

"Not to mention, it's too dangerous." Father continued angrily. "Too many threats of assassination. There's rumours that Tyrion Lasith is behind the riots."

The name sent a flinch through my grandfather's face. Tyrion Lasith. A cruel man, akin to a rabid dog, who had fallen out of favour in the Silver Court. And was still powerful despite it.

"If the people don't see we are human, if they don't stop this, then Vivienne will be in danger no matter what we do. Our dynasty will collapse."

"She's just a child," Mother pleaded. My grandfather softened.

"I don't want this for her either, Mariee." He said sadly. "But what choice do I have? The rioters will have no mercy for Vivienne if they overthrow us."

My parents silently accepted, knowing in their hearts that my grandfather was right.

As my family walked through the streets, fruit was thrown in anger by the people watching on. The offenders were apprehended and dealt with as fairly as they could manage. This was another subject of debate:

"If we do not strike hard at the people who disdain us and whisper of rebellion," Grandfather argued. "Then what starts with fruit will end with stones."

"And if we deal with the offenders mercilessly for all the world to see then the people will rise up and it will still end with stones," Mother replied.

"You can't win these people through compassion, daughter." My grandfather said sadly. "I know because I have tried. The world hates us. They will always hate us, simply because of what we could do if we became monsters. For that simple if they would condemn us, kill us. The only way for us to survive is through fear."

"Then we become exactly what they say we are!" My mother had yelled at him, and they had settled into an uneasy agreement of a compromise. They would be neither merciful nor merciless; they would be just.

Apparently, just was both too little and too much for them to keep the throne.Whispers began to fill the streets. I later realise they were probably the work of Tyrion. They were far too outrageous to have been born of some fragment of truth like most rumours begin with.

'I heard that the Silverians steal people's Names.'

'I heard that they wipe memories of people who know their crimes.'

'I heard that they're working with the valkyries.'

And then, the more frightening rumours began to take hold:'I heard one of the guards is a sympathiser. He might help us fight back.'

'I heard Tyrion is calling everyone to arms for the big push-back.'

'I heard some of the city-states might help us out if we fought back.'

'I heard that Tyrion might actually be able to take the throne. After all, he does have Silverian blood. He could be the next Lord.'

My parents protected me from those rumours. I only learnt about them afterwards, when I began putting together the great puzzle of what exactly had happened in the last days of Silvera.