☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party

✨ Alice Spills the Tea on: The Houses Who Know Better & The God Who Noticed Too Late

Come closer, darling. Lower your voice. The walls here have ears, and some of them are immortal.

☕️ A Quick Cup of Context for New Readers

If you’ve just stumbled into this tale with no prior tea spilled, welcome. Sit down. Breathe.
In Alice’s world, Starveined are elven–mortal hybrids born from forbidden unions once declared impossible by gods and courts alike. Contrary to divine warnings, these children did not weaken magic. They balanced it.
Starveined walk unnoticed among elves and mortals, their heritage hidden unless rare moons reveal subtle signs. They possess a unique magic called Severance Weaving, the ability to quietly unravel magical intent itself. Not destroy it. Not overpower it. Simply slip free of fate’s stitching.
They are not a public caste. They have no empire. They survive through quiet Houses, informal Orders, and the inconvenient truth that even the gods struggle to see them clearly.
Everything you are about to read unfolds inside this secret history. A truth hidden in plain sight. A lineage the heavens failed to erase.
Now. On with the scandal.

🌿 The Elven Houses Who Secretly Intermarry with the Starveined

Publicly, of course, they would never. The courts would gasp. The gods would scowl. The histories would be rewritten by morning.

Privately?

Oh, they know exactly what they are doing.

House Aelthorn

Keepers of forest borders and ancient ley crossings.

Aelthorn marriages are famously “unfortunate.” Spouses vanish into the woods. Records are lost to moss and time. Children return changed - calmer, sharper, harder to read.

Their Starveined unions are hidden behind the excuse of wardenship. “You must marry the land,” they say. How poetic. How convenient.

House Velmyra

Archivists. Star-readers. Chroniclers of cosmic cycles.

Velmyra doesn’t marry Starveined for love. They marry them for accuracy.

Prophecies stop misbehaving around Starveined spouses. Timelines smooth. Omens clarify. The House pretends this is coincidence while quietly arranging “unusual” matches every third generation.

Their records are immaculate. Their omissions are intentional.

House Caerwyn

Ah. The dramatists.

Publicly pious. Loudly loyal to divine law. The first to condemn hybrid bloodlines in court.

And yet…

Caerwyn bloodlines are riddled with unexplained resilience. Children who survive impossible births. Heirs who cannot be cursed properly.

Their intermarriages are disguised as penance. “We take in the broken,” they say. They never say who broke them.

House Nyssavel

The quietest of all.

No proclamations. No condemnations. Just… hospitality.

Starveined refugees pass through Nyssavel lands and somehow never leave. They take new names. New lives. New futures.

Nyssavel claims ignorance. They are lying beautifully.

Now. Take a breath.

Because this is the part the gods truly hate.

📜 A God’s Private Journal Entry

(Recovered fragment. Authorship disputed. Ink identified as divine ichor.)

Cycle 11,487 - after the Third Silence

Aestrael assured us the anomaly would resolve itself.

He always does. Calm. Observant. Useless.

The Unwoven were meant to thin. To kneel. To fade.

Instead, the prophecies misalign. The threads refuse correction.

I saw one today. A Starveined child. No mark. No flare. Divine sight slid off him like rain on glass.

I asked Aestrael how many there were now.

He said, “Enough.”

That was not an answer.

We forbade their unions. We erased their names. We burned the records.

And still they multiply. Quietly. Patiently.

I fear the loom itself has learned from them.

If fate can be unthreaded without violence, then what purpose do we serve?

I will convene the others. We must act.

Unless…

Unless it is already too late.

- [Name removed by divine consensus]