Status: update is in progress.

Birdie

theif

Two weeks passes by rather quickly and I find myself growing more and more attached to the people around me. Pierre, Tai, and I can all be found around each other at school. The other kids generally leave us alone, though there's the ocassional insult for befriending a Warlock but we ignore them. Tinsley and I are often found scurrying around the house, doing this or that and I even help her with her housework sometimes. I dust bookshelves and tables, wash the windows, and even scrub the floor. Anastas and I actually constantly visit his garden and I help tend to his plants and he teaches me a little about each one.

But most importantly, I'm growing closer to my Uncle. There are days when I sit in his workshop with him and hand him tools or hold a piece of metal down tight as he works on it. I admit that helping my Uncle is both fun and challenging as well as a great bonding expeirence, but there's something even better. I enjoy even more to just watch him silently from the doorway as he works, humming the song from my dream. There is just something about observing him from a distance that gives you an intense pleasure inside. It is rare to see a human so careful with something, but he is there doing it. He took the metal into his hands and forged it into functional beings. He was creating life.

Something had come to my mind one day as I had watched him, perched behind the doorframe. Hephaestus, I had thought and it had seemed so true. Though religion was dead to the world, the still taught classes about and I remembered studying Hephaestus- the Greek god who forged beautiful mechinisms in his own palace. Uncle Edwin is the earthly form of the blacksmith God, I had thought. Each were so similar. Both a love for metal craft, both lame - Hephaestus in his leg, Uncle in his mental health- and overall, they both were passionate for the very thing that made them feel truly worth anything.

My Uncle, Pierre, and I also enjoyed many conersations over the elegantly prepared faery dinners. We drink wine, share stories, and laugh like a real family. Of course, I have been getting closer to the blacksmith faery boy as well. He acompanies me around school and in the empty halls of my Uncle's large estate. There are times when we walk close next to eachother and we accidently brush the other's hand and we'd have to part from eachother shyly. Then there are the times when we cross the city streets of Everstile and we walk linked by the arms. Pierre and I talk to each other about the day's events and things from our past, always listening intently to the other.

We are learning the other's life bit by bit. He knows I came from a small farm in a small village, he knows about the death of my parents, and he knows my insecurities and fears of life here in the city, which have been rapidly fading. And of course, I'm learning about him as well. Pierre had been born a good hundred years before the barriers were in place. He is the soon of an important Duke in the Fey Kingdom, but they don't get along very well. His father urged him to get into faery politics but Pierre became blacksmith. And due to his lack of social interactions, they sent him here for a mentor, schooling, and social situations. Honestly, he just feels they sent him away so they don't have to worry about him any more. I try my best to push those feelings aside when he brings it up, though.

Pierre and I spend as much time together as possible. In fact, today we walk through the vender area of Everstile. It's a bright, sunny Saturday and the world seems to be in perfect harmony. The sun is shining, children are running and playing, and civilians are trading and buying peacefully. MY faery escort keeps his arm locked with mine as we stroll through the marketplace.

"What did Uncle need again?" I ask, already having forgotten the reason we'd been sent to the market.

"He needs some more metal sheeting and some more nuts and bolts. Oh and some gears."

"Where can we get those?" I ask curiously. I accompany him to the market place a lot but never for Uncle's supplies. He points off to the side of the road, not at the vender's kiosks but rather at a shop on the end of the street, right on the corner. It's made entirely of black bricks and has a large, bulky hunk of metal for a door.

"Paladrome's Hardware," he explains, "Great little shop. You can always get what you need there, whatever it is. Good people too, even better gossip."

We turn onto the street that the shop resides on and continue on our way. Pierre pulls the door open and ushers me into the shop. It's oddly warm in the shop, I start sweating almost instantly. The shop is small, but houses a lot of items. On one side of the store, there are shelves and racks filled with tools -hammers, drills, blow torches- and equipment to match. On the other side there are various types of metal, all varying in shape, size, and color. Long, silvery sheets, short black coils, and coppery gears.

Pierre scans over the people in the shop whereas I had only scanned the merchandise. I follow his lead, however. There are lots of farmers or those who appear to be. There are also a couple of men not much older than myself looking through the vast amount of items. Behind the counter in the back a large, muscular man sits on a stool. He wears ratty trousers and a vest over his shirtless torso. He has tattoos that ran up and down his arms, almost as if his goal is to cover himself in ancient text. Could this be Paladrome?

Pierre flashes a grin to me and leads me to the counter. He puts his hands on the edge and looks the man in the eyes. "I have buisness with Paladrome."

The man glares at the faery as if he is imagining ripping him apart and looking into every aspect of his soul. After a long pause he mutters, "Name?"

"Stillson."

The man gives a curt nod and goes through a curtain covering a door that I hadn't noticed. A moment later, both the man and a woman step through the curtain. The man returns to his stool but the woman steps out right in front of us. She is short, yet slender. She must be in her mid thirties or so, judging from the worry lines on her forehead. She wears a slim black dress that tightens significantly near her middle. Her pale arms are covered in tattoos, just like the man's, but hers are different. They are thicker and the markings give her an elegance and grace that only a trained wairror would have. Just below her collar bones, there is a small word tattooed on her skin in italics. It simply reads; paladrome.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Stillson?" Paladrome says with a smile. I look over her again in awe. She truly is an oddity. I had never seen a woman with tattoos before, much less a woman a woman giving off the aura of a warrior. She is beautiful as well, and that throws me off much more. Why would a woman chose to be a warrior or ink her skin? And yet there she is with sparkling soft blue eyes and gentle red hair that spirals down and spills over her shoulders.

"The usual Silversmythe order," Pierre replies.

"Flintlock, get the order from the back," Paladrome directs toward the man on the stool. Flintlock stands and wanders into the back to find our order. The odd woman directs her gaze to me. "She's pretty. Is this her?"

"Yes, this is Skye," Pierre says, gesturing to me with his hand. I blush and curtsey politely. I try to avoid looking at her, to avoid looking at her markings but I can't help it. Thankfully, she hasn't noticed yet.

"Pierre speaks a lot of you in here," she smiles at me triumphantly. "He always has such wonderful things to tell me about you."

I blush some more and look over at Pierre. His milky white skin has turned red. "That's very sweet of him."

Paladrome nods and narrows her eyes at me. She had finally caught me, I am sure of it. "Is something the matter, Skye?"

I sigh. It isn't as if I am going to lie to her. "To be perfectly honest, you're not what I expected. I expected..." I say, trailing off.

"Paladrome to be a man? Or did you not antcipate a woman with the marked skin of a warrior?"

"Perhaps a little of both," I admit. Pierre stays quiet as the older woman and I stare at eachother. Paladrome smiles however, throwing me off. I had expected her to be angry at me or upset. I would not have blamed her. Then again, I'm learning that Paladrome is not a woman who is like any other.

"And why did these things surprise you?" She asks cautiously.

"I guess I never knew a woman could a warrior, or that there were women who wanted to warriors."

"Well, Skye," she replies softly, resting her arms on the counter. She closes her eyes for a moment before speaking. "A woman is a lot of things. She is daring, passionate, and loyal. She is strong willed and has an even stronger heart. But, when it comes down to it, a woman will fight for what she believes in. She will protect what is hers and fight for the peace of others. Woman are sometimes better warriors than men."

By now I'm grinning. Her soft spoken words have sparked inspiration in me. She is a curious woman, I'll give her that, but the lady knows how to give a speech. A second later, Flintlock appears with a large wooden crate in his arms. He slides it across the counter and Pierre sets down a pile of silver coins before lifting up the crate. He smiles at me, cocking his head to the door. I turn to leave with a smile but Paladrome grabs my arm gently.

"Skye, you remind me of myself as a teenager. Let me guess- you're lost here in a new city. You've had something important taken from your life. And you also have a sense of pride and independence that could rival any man." She grins at me and I blush in response. "But let me tell you this- you remind me of a younger me, that is true, but you also remind me of myself just a few years ago- warrior. You are a fighter, Skye, whether you know it or not."

The woman lets me go without another word and I allow Pierre to lead me out of the shop and out into a busy street. You are a fighter, Skye. I reply the words over and over in my head and ponder why they mean so much to me. I am lost in my own world until Pierre finally ruses me out of it.

"She's a bit strange," he comments. We're about halfway home now. "But I think she can see within people and she brings out the best parts of them."

I cover my heart with my hand, biting my lip as I wonder what Paladrome brought out in me. Is it an inspiration to be anything that I desire? That a woman can do anything that a man could? Or did Paladrome tell me something more than she should have? Could she see what fate had in store and had predicted it for me? I don't know who she is, or truly what she is, but she knows more than the rest of us.

She knows that one day I'll need to leave this timidness behind and step up to be what I'm destined to be- a warrior. But, whatever that may mean to me is another mystery entirely.

Image

"Are you alright?" She asks. I hadn't even noticed the white haired faery in my room. I had come home with Pierre and after he had left to go work with my Uncle, I'd gone upstairs to my room. I have been laying upon my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Paladrome's words shouldn't have gotten to me so easily. She is but a stranger, and I am probably taking her words out of context. She said I am a fighter, but that does not mean she meant it in a litteral sense, did it? My parents had parished and I am still here with a smile on my face. I had fought through the greif. Perhaps that could be what she meant, but no matter what I tell myself I cannot help but feel that she had meant it in a litteral sense.

"Just lost in thought, Tinsley," I murmer and sit up straight. She sits down next to me.

"Is it about Master Stillson?" She smiles softly. "I see the way he looks at you."

Paladrome's words fade from my mind for a moment. "He looks at me in a certain way?" I feel heat rush to my cheeks. Tinsley's pale skin is set ablaze as well.

"Perhaps I've said too much," she smiles shyly and stands again.

"You've said just enough, believe me," I whisper, hope clinging to every one of my words. I spend so much time with the boy and even I had not noticed the way he looks at me. I do wish for him to like me, want to be with me. I know that I have feelings for him that may be more than just friendship, something more romantic and it is my hope that he might feel the same.

She changes the subject shyly. "Dinner will be served soon, I just came to give you a bit of a heads up."

I thank her and she wanders out of my room and returns to whatever task she had been doing beforehand. I sigh and follow her out a moment later. Dinner is not yet served but it wouldn't hurt anything to wait in the dining room. I haven't anything better to do. I exit my room and start my way down the stairs when I stop at the enterance to the second floor. Just like everytime I've passed this place, there's something inside me that yearns to explore it. I have lived here at the Silversmythe for nearly over three weeks now and my curiousity is starting to get the better of me.

I quickly check all around me and peer over the banister of the stairs. No body seems to be watching me, so I move quickly into the hallway. It's a long hallway with nearly five doors on either side and another opening to an even lengthier hallway to the left. I walk slowly and quietly through the corridor. I am curious as to what is inside the doors but the strange feeling is pulling me away from these doors and toward the mouth of the other hallway. I turn down it and gaze forward. There are more doors, perhaps six or seven on each side. I let the feeling guide me until I end up in front of the fourth door on the right side of the hall. I grip the handle in my hand, twist it, and carefully push the door open.

I enter the large bedroom, releasing my breath. There's a large bed meant for that that's pushed against the center of the back wall. Bookshelves line the left and right walls, but most of the books lie on the floor. At closer inspection, the room is practically trashed. Books have been thrown from their places on the shelves and onto the ground. Several have pages ripped out or are scratched or broken. Tables have been flipped open or broken. The sheets on the bed have been ripped open, along with the pillows, as feathers lie almost everywhere. The only thing not destroyed or damaged in the least is a small wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

I glance around and behind me to check if I've been followed, but I haven't. I creep over to the chest and kneel before. I think for a moment before doing anything else. Obviously, something had happened in here, but what? No one seems to have gotten hurt -no bodies or blood- but someone obviously had done this out of rage. Is is safe to be peering through private affairs? Is it really my buisness? I ask myself and after a second I decide that is is my buisness. I live here now too, this is my home. I deserve to know what's going on in this mansion.

I flip open the latch that holds the chest closed and it springs open. Inside are three things- a small black leather bound journal, a framed picture, and an oddly shaped golden key. I pick up the picture frame and gasp. In the picture are two women- the small brown haired girl from my dreams and an elegant black haired faery woman with beautiful teal eyes. I slowly put down the picture and lift the leather journal. A name is engraved in gold on the front; Odette. Calmly and sneakily, I grab the key and the journal and clutch them both close to my chest as I close and latch the chest.

I stand nervously and start to leave the room. I pull the door shut behind my before I take off down the hall and back up the stairs to my own bedroom. I quickly toss the stolen items under my pillow before I truly think about what I just did. I had stolen something that had not been mine. It had been something private and kept away. It is obviously not for my eyes but I had taken it anyway. I sigh and blink hard. I did the right thing, though. I need to figure out the mystery of Elena and now, Odette. Besides, once I'm down using the journal and key, I can just put them back.

I sigh and shakily start my way down the stairs once more, trying to act as calm as I can. I decide that I shall read through the journal tonight, or read some of it. It is my mission to unravel whatever truth my dreams have held and the evidence I've found in the waking world. Tonight is the night where I finally make sense of a few things.
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