Birdie

The weekend had actually passed very quickly, much to my liking. My Uncle's manor is finally beginning to feel like my home now and I couldn't be happier with the people I share it with. I'm already thinking of Tinsley, whom I had spent most of the weekend with just discussing small matters such as boys, dresses, and the like, as a close friend or sister. Anastas, whom I did spend a little time with in the library and garden, was growing closer to me and I do rather enjoy his company. My Uncle, as mad and distracted as he seems, is also becoming a familiar and much expected face. Only Pierre, who tried to avoid me as much as possible, is distant and unfamiliar too me.

Carefully, I run the silver brush through my silky dark hair. I'd requested a less extravagant dress for the day, much to Tinsley's disdain. The dress she's given me for today is a powder blue and is quite form fitting. It's straps wrap around my shoulders, showing more of my collar bone than I consider lady-like. A snow white ribbon is tied tightly around my middle, causing me to appear slimmer and show just a tad bit of bosom. I feel slightly bare and unnatural in this manner but Tinsley refused to hear head nor tail of it. I sigh and sit at the desk, continuing to fix my own hair. Internally I know that it is my only way of coping for the events today is sure to bring.

Today is Monday, the dreaded first day of school within the capitol city. I had indeed inquired if this tiny village Uncle lives in, the one that is so close to Everstile, has its own school but alas, I was met with a disappointing, "No." This village, Pileson, is mainly used as an extra housing community for those too poor to afford homes within Everstile. My Uncle's argument, however, is that the school has great teachers and can offer a lot of knowledge- more so than the school in Ellmis had offered me in my previous years.

There's a quiet knock at the door and it gratefully springs me from my thoughts and worries. "Come in."

Much to my surprise, Anastas enters the room, a flaccid smile upon his face. His soft pink hair is somewhat styled today. It's rather short in length and smoothed down like a gentleman. He wears a bronze colored waistcoat and trousers to match and neatly polished loafers to top it off. His eyes avert my form, rather looking past or through me. I set the brush down upon the desk and turn my body toward his.

"Is everything alright, Anastas?"

"Indeed, Miss Deerly," he says, his accent somewhat softer today. "I was told to see if you were ready."

"By whom?" I ask, glancing over to the clock Pierre had hung on the left wall over the weekend. I had originally asked Uncle Edwin to complete the task, but he had been to busy painting the metal birds, etching on every last bit of detail he possibly could manage. Luckily enough, Pierre offered to do it.

"Master Stillson," he says quietly. It takes me a minute to realize that Stillson is Pierre's last name. Though I hadn't even encounter a faerie before my move to the Silversmythe manor, I shouldn't be so surprised that they have last names. I glance over to the clock one final time to see that it is indeed drawing nearer to the time we'd agreed upon for departure. I nod, stand, and follow my escort out of my room and down to the foyer. There, Pierre waits for me dressed as dashing as he had been for dinner the previous night. His waistcoat, however, is a soft golden color that seems to shine in the sunlight. His hair, as usual, has been tempered to try and make it lay straight, but his ash-like locks just won't have it.

Pierre's face is impassive, his sharp features really standing out. His lavender eyes are partially glinting, though I'm half tempted to believe it is a natural trait of his. He holds out his arm like a true man and we hook our arms at the elbow. Without anything spoken between us, Anastas opens one of the double doors and leads us out into the fresh morning air. With much alarm I realize that this is the first time that I have stepped outside of the Silversmythe household since my arrival. The boy on my arm realizes this as well and stops us on the pathway to the carriage, allowing me a moment to soak in the outside world. I twist my body back and forth slightly and tilt my neck, trying to bathe myself in the light. It's warm and inviting and it makes me feel refreshed.

I smile to myself and let the faery lead me to the carriage. It's certainly not like the one I had back in Ellmis. It's hull is beautifully painted white and outlined in silver. The windows are masked by silver velvet curtains. In front of the carriage is the driver's seat, which has a beautiful and comfortable looking cushion. And, in front of that is one beautiful chocolate mare with a nice, silky mane. I wish to stroke her, but Pierre's grip on my arm is tight as he helps me into the hull of the carriage. We take our seats, each sitting across from one another.

The carriage lurches forward and just like that, we're off. I find myself watching the boy in front of me, studying him carefully and for no particular reason. Well, maybe on a subconscious level, it's because I find him very beautiful. He keeps his head lowered, one hand picking at the nails on the other. His elven-like ears have become apparent and I just marvel at they're shape. On one hand, he's just the same as any other boy, but at the same time, he's an extraordinary magical being with beauty that can sometimes be difficult to comprehend.

"I'm four hundred, you know," he says. He doesn't even bother to look up at me. He continues to pick away at his cuticles.

"Four hundred years old?" I ask, my eyes a little wider than they ought to be.

"Just about," he sighs. "I felt like it was necessary for you to know."

"And why would that be?"

He shrugs, as if that simple gesture could be enough to explain anything to anyone. "You make me want to tell you things."

A blush raises to my cheeks, a bright crimson against skin like winter snow. Is that supposed to be a good thing? I hope so. Maybe Pierre really is a respectable young man, despite his usual demeanor. Maybe spending more time with him could open him up to me just enough to make him more comfortable -perhaps happier?- around me. He's looking up now, lavender eyes poised at me. "I, uh," I ramble, "If you're so old, why are you going to school?"

Pierre laughs slightly. I groan inwardly. "I didn't mean to make it sound like you're old, because you're not. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he chuckles, eyes lighting up slightly. I stop myself from apologizing any further and enjoy a quiet laugh with him. When he finishes, he can't help but smile. "To be honest, my parents thought that as long as I'm down here in the Human Kingdom, I might as well go to school. They think I need to work on my social skills."

Isn't that the understatement of the century? I laugh to myself. He looks a little confused at first but neither one of us brings it up. With a slight smile, I draw back the velvet curtain and take a peak outside. Surprisingly we've already ridden through Pileson and now are that small turn where if we turned right we could head back to my old home, but instead, Anastas directs the horses to the left, taking us onto the paved roads leading into Everstile. The brilliant green of grass slowly smooths into carefully placed bricks. The trees turn to buildings, the whole feeling being outdoors slowly disappears until there is nothing left but the city. Buildings seem to skyrocket from the ground up, others right beside it. Along most of the streets are merchant's carts filled to the brim with merchandise. Men and women saunter amongst themselves, buying and selling. Smaller children are running and giggling while ones around my age make their way to school.

"Are you okay?" Pierre places a freezing hand on my bare shoulder, but it's the sort of comfort I need. All my life, I've been brought up to despise the city, it's people, it's way of life. But, being here now... I do not hate in the least, though I do not love it either. I feel indifferent, as if there is something deeply profound that I'm supposed to be feeling and I'm just not.

"Fine, really," I breathe, "This is just a change for me."

His hand slides off of my shoulder and we continue our ride in an awkward silence. When Anastas stops the carriage and lets us out, I'm more than astonished at the school building. It's only one floor, but has large ceilings for even the tallest of few. The building itself only stretches out so far in each direction, so I assume the classes aren't as big. When the Fey and Warlocks were discovered, the school system was destroyed along with everything else. When they reinstated it, they took out things they thought were too technological or too advanced, such as math, chemistry, most sciences, and things along those lines. Now all that is left are literature classes, history classes, foreign studies, even the occasional language class if you're lucky. Faeries and warlocks, of course, do have a few separate classes where they are able to learn things pertaining to their cultures and lifestyles.

I allow my eyes to gaze over the building in as much detail as I can but in the end, I just look to Pierre who meets me with an expression as lost and confused as mine. I hold out my arm and he takes it. This is the first time either of us has been in a school as large as this, with so many people.

No one said we had to do it alone.



I'm actually thoroughly impressed with how fast school seemed to take. Since we were enrolled practically mid-year, Pierre and I are in most of the same classes, though he has three classes that only allow faeries in them. We kept to ourselves, mostly. We didn't answer questions, we didn't talk to the others around us, and we sat together at lunchtime. Pierre had fallen back into his sullen mood, unfortunately, but I was lucky to have him near by.

I climb into the carriage but Pierre stops to talk to Anastas real fast. A moment later he joins me and explains that he needs the other faerie to make a quick stop in the market area. Pierre hops out when we arrive there and rushes back as quickly as he can, his arms wrapped tightly around several large sheets of metal. Each sheet catches the light, letting it's surface gleam. It looks like strong, durable metal.

"What is that for?"

"Well, you seem really attached to the bird Edwin gave you," he says and it is quite the truth. During the weekend, I had held that thing close to my body as I read from my book or even when wandering the halls with Tinsley. The only time I'm truly apart from it is at night when I retire her to the workshop and today while I was at school. "So, I thought I'd pick up some metal to make a bird cage with. That way you can keep the bird in your room."

"That's very kind of you," I smile. I feel as if I should tell him oh, that's not necessary or it's very sweet of you to offer but you do not have to do so but I bite my tongue. He's offering to do such a kind thing for me and I like seeing him acting this way, not shy and secluded as he usually is. "There must be a way that I can repay you for such a task?"

"There is," he looks down at the metal in his lap. The carriage starts to role forward then, taking a backroad and then heading back down Main Street. The carriage flies past civilians of all shapes, genders, colors, and species, but the only person I care to pay attention to right now is the shy yet moody faery in front of me. One of his hands run of the metal, slender fingers being as gentle as if it were a newly born child. "You could keep me company while I build it."

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I look down at my lap to hide my face. "I'd love nothing more."

Anastas cracks the reigns and the mare picks up her speed. Pierre and I say nothing else to each other. I turn my head and enjoy the scenery as we stroll down the main path and turn onto the path to Pileson. It strikes me as odd, all of a sudden, that Uncle Edwin is quite wealthy but does not live in one of the nicer houses in the city. Sure, his manor is quite extravagant and lovely to live in- but he could easily live in the city. He could be closer to a client base and closer to supplies and the general public. Oddly enough, he doesn't live just in the town right outside of the city- but two or three miles from even that village. Perhaps he just enjoys the nature or feeling of being in an open space.

When we arrive, Pierre gets out of the carriage and rushes into the manor, metal clutched to his chest. Anastas comes around and helps me down to the ground, hand in mine the entire time. He chuckles a bit and I give him a questioning look. "Master Stillson may be a couple centuries old, but he still asks as if he's a child."

"He is a child, isn't he? Four hundred is not very old to faeries, am I correct? I was always told that the fey stop their bodies from aging while they mature for a few centuries, but then, one they've reached full maturity, they can resume aging."

"Yes and no," he says, accent thick, "We do stop aging, whether we want too or not, while our spirits and minds mature and try to fully connect us to the world and magic around our species. Once we are one with the world around us, completely and truly -and it'll take a few hundred years- we can finally let our bodies age. There has never been a faery in existence that has died from old age- we live forever."

"Forever?" My eyes drift to his blank ones.

"As far as we know," he shrugs and finally closes the carriage door, latching it shut. I turn my body even farther to his.

"How old are you?"

"Let's just say," he sighs, "I remember a time when humans were blind to us." Before I can ask him what he means by that, he climbs back onto the drivers seat, cracks the reigns and has the mare carry him off to the left of the manor and around the house, toward the garden area. Sadly, I hang my head slightly and venture into the manor. Faeries hustle and bustle all around me, but I make my way to the workshop where Pierre is undoubtedly waiting for me.

The room is slightly colder than the rest of the house, what with being slightly lower than the first floor and made of concrete. Pierre sits at a lone work bench, the sheets of metal already laid out around him. He looks up at me as I enter but his eyes return to his work. Before I go to his side, I make my way to the back of the workshop where the birds are being stored. I open the small work cabinet, look past the tools and spy the three mechimals. To make my bird stand out from the others, I had my Uncle paint over it- a nice yellow of a canary with subtle blue streaks on its wings. The beak is now a softer orange and its eyes are even glossier than before. I smile at it and pull it from it's sleeping chamber. With precaution in mind, my Uncle had installed a stillness feature- if the mechimals are confined or do not move for an hour or so, they fall into a pseudo-sleep. At the touch of my hands, my mechinal springs to life, chirping a raspy, metallic little tune.

I calmly run my hand over its cold, sleek body and start my return to Pierre. His elven ears perk up a little and he whips his head to face me. "Uh, could you grab me the blowtorch? It's in his work belt."

"Of course," I nod and turn the other direction. There on the bench pressed against the far wall is a long tool pelt with various pockets and various tools sticking out. I spy the blowtorch easily and reach into the pocket, pulling not only the tool out but something odd shaped as well. I set the torch down on the bench and glance behind me. Pierre is busy with the metal in front of him and has stopped paying attention to me. Casually, I open my fist and reveal the item to my eyes. It's a small, palm sized heart-shaped piece of wood. It's a beautiful piece cherrywood and has been polished to a smooth, glossy feel. At closer inspection, I can see a small name engraved in cursive.

I gasp and drop the heart onto the table, praying to the Spirits that Pierre hadn't heard the clank of the drop. I gulp and shove the item back into the pocket of the belt, pick up the blowtorch and quickly hand it over to the gray haired boy. To be honest, I had been looking forward to spending this time with the faery, but now, I can't get the name out of my head. It's everywhere. It was in my dream, on the title of a children's book in my Uncle's library, and now on the wooden heart he keeps in his tool belt. There is no possible way it can be a coincidence. There is something about this name, this person, this girl, that is very important to my Uncle and the manor. There is no longer a thought in my head that I dreamt her up myself- she is real.

I sigh and clench my eyes shut, but the name sprawled in cursive keeps flashing in my brain- Elena.