{Volume 1: Kalisa Maas} I never really understood Brektov’s work. Just a mess of trills and squeaky highs to my commoner ears. But that was before Kalisa Maas. From the very first note, her voice reached into my chest and plucked my beating heart from its cage. By the wide, glistening eyes of my fellow punters, I knew that they felt it too. I’ve previously stolen a quick nap during the aria that precedes Antonio’s disembowelling. Not tonight. The gem at Kalisa’s throat sparkled with starlight brilliance as her C sharp shattered every pane of glass in the auditorium. An emergency intermission was called while the stage crew repaired the floods and cans, and a pair of physicians saw to those audience members lacerated by falling splinters. Now, my suspicion of the Virtue Gems is well-documented. Though general and courtier might fall over each other to have Malachai embed them with these miraculous crystals, it is a travesty of justice that the legionnaires and workers of this Empire should have such mutilations foisted upon them. Yet, in Kalisa Maas I’ve seen how these gems may rend apart our mortal bonds and permit our imaginations and souls to truly shine. I’m adrift in the quandary, no oar in sight. Is Kalisa the Artist or the Art? Is she the same woman I knew before, the young bundle of talent and timidity I had no choice but to adore? Is she still, in fact, a woman at all? { - Victario of Sarn}