Tullelillieila. Born in a distant land. An isolated kingdom, high in the mountains, surrounded by a desert expanse. A wealthy kingdom. Marble towers, feasts and finery. Life on a silver spoon. For many decades she never questioned the life that had been handed to her. The lives of the pallid elves was one of ease and decadence, their every need catered to by servants.

Eventually though, the inquisitive mind of the young elven woman began to question, and with each question, her eyes opened further. Her dreams were haunted by a disgusting and squalid mockery of the halls that her waking mind walked. The faces that appeared in her dreams were gaunt and hollow, nothing like their daytime counterparts in her life. And then one day, she opened her eyes.

The elegant halls and sparkling rooms of her life had been a lie. With her mind awake, Tullelillieila could see the crumbling and bare stonework of the towers she called home. Dust and cobwebs caked the room she called her own, and the bedding was ratty and ruined with age. The faces of her family and servants were emaciated, the only sustenance maintaining them being the illusion that had been her life and the arcane opium that had maintained it.