I wake to the of a tall shadow in a pitch-dark corner,

  rhythmically breaking the murky silence. The old Elm Clock, dragged

  in from the hallway when I was no more than six years old.

  Thick curtains glow silver at the fringes, spilling white light

  across a faded carpet. It’s the only light in the room, just enough

  to see the fuzzy edges of my old room. Enough to see the blankets

  tossed every which way, to see how my tail has scored holes through

  the silky sheets. Such a waste, as always.

  I should know better than this by now, but the moment I’d seen

  Helena off to the guest room, I’d stumbled to my own bed and fell

  straight into it. I couldn't do that without making sure all my

  scales were covered, most places, but...

  Oh, my mother would hate me for it. Father, too. That might just be

  the best part.

  Crawford Manor is never silent, even in the bright, cold hours of the

  morning. The whisper of wind over curtains, the rhythmic brushing of

  enchanted brooms...

  And now, the clinking of teacups as I pour myself some tea. It's a

  symphony of the senses I'd heard every day for years, descending down

  into the lobby to find out what nonsense my parents wanted from me.

  The memories are clear as crystal. She'd be here, ready to send me

  off to a tutor, or give me a disappointed frown for something I'd

  done the day before.

  Until they weren't there anymore, and my chair replaced her old

  favorite. I burned hers after the reading of my parents' wills, and

  finding out what they'd planned for me.

  I take a sip and close my eyes, sinking into the plush chair. "Gods,"

  I groan to the empty room. "She'd hate this tea. Too floral.

  Good."

  "Hmmm?"

  A sleepy voice drifts down from above, and I draw myself out of my

  thoughts.

  "Ah, you're up," I smile lightly, jerking my chin in

  Helena's direction. She’s coming down the stairs to the lobby in a

  cozy-looking blouse and trousers, though I’ve no idea where they

  came from. "Hope the house didn't bother you in the night."

  "I am, and ah, I did sleep well." Helena says, nodding

  slowly. She gives me a lopsided smile, running a hand through her

  rather messy looking hair. "The... um, the Manor actually woke

  me up by opening the curtains, but I don't mind."

  She yawns, stretching her arms out. “N-not , I mean."

  I gesture to the table in front of me, gently tapping a claw against

  the teapot. "I don't really do breakfast, sorry, but we can pick

  it up in town. Tea?"

  She slumps into the chair across from me, reaching straight for the

  teapot. "Perfect. You're too kind. No need to buy me breakfast,

  really!”

  Doing my best to ignore poor tea etiquette, I take a long sip of tea,

  lifting up my tail and bringing it around to my lap. Her eyes lazily

  flick down to my hands, to my blackened claws and the scales peeking

  out of my robe.

  "I crashed into you, bruised something, and you

  asked for help." I shrug, doing my best to remain casual. A tug

  of my magic makes my claws fade away, before I can damage something

  expensive. "Benny likes you, the Manor likes you..."

  I trail off when I see Helena's blush, hidden poorly by the lip of

  her teacup.

  She coughs, shakes her head, and sets her tea down. She sticks her

  arms out and stretches, her whole body shivering with the strain. A

  few blinks and shoulder-rolls later, and she suddenly seems much more

  awake.

  "Mm. Th-thank you. And I can keep... using your library? Or is

  it your family's?"

  I don’t stare at her for all that.

  I . I am Dame Ivy Crawford, and for all that I’m not

  popular, I still have the dignity of my title, probably. And surely,

  people know that I’m the only Crawford left? Maybe she thinks I’m

  the infamous Amelia Crawford’s distant cousin?

  So, instead, I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward to set my teacup

  down with a clink. She’s one of those scholarly sorts; I have just

  the thing for her. “You did mention you’d been here a few times,

  so, I kind of guessed you were using it. You don’t seem like the

  type to explore Old Imperial dungeons, and ours is mostly renovated,

  anyways.”

  “What?” Helena frowns, taking a longer sip of her tea. “Oh,

  this is excellent, thank you.”

  “Huh, you’ve got taste, too. Mincadian Green, though I’m pretty

  sure there’s something floral in there with it. Blame Benny, they

  made it.” I offer a thin smile, then shake my head. “So. You’re

  here for my library, Helena. Why?”

  "I'm training to be a mage, and I can't afford the

  apprenticeship fees," Helena begins, pausing to take a sip of

  tea. She wrinkles her nose, exhaling sharply. "And the Church

  won’t— ah, nevermind."

  She shakes her head, waving it off. Gods, now I just want to know,

  and here she is dangling it all just out of reach.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  I just shrug, though. No use in pressing her, and I'd rather stay out

  of the Restoration Church's business. I've had more than enough of

  their nonsense over the years.

  "And your library, Ivy, has this incredible selection. I knew

  you had a few, but, I-I-"

  “It’s ridiculous.” Helena straightens, jerking her chin up,

  setting her tea down, and jabs a finger straight at me. Her green

  eyes gleam with an inner fire, and it's enough to keep my jaw shut.

  "Ivy Crawford, I cannot believe your family left this whole

  collection to rot! You have the entire set of Classical Magecraft in

  pristine condition. Even the banned volumes! And don't even get me

  started on your alchemical section, by the Restoration it's..."

  She goes, and goes, and goes, and I just watch on with a cup of tea.

  Two cups, then three, and a tray floats over to take our cooling

  teaset. Helena even hands her teacup over without so much as pausing

  for breath; good Gods this woman has a lot of air in her.

  First, there's library maintenance, then the importance of education.

  A little ramble about banned books being foolish, but she seems more

  resigned than anything towards that part.

  I feel something primal building in my gut, pressing against the

  sheer absurdity of the situation. This meek girl is talking down to

  me, as if a Restorer has any right to do so. It's odd, certainly, but

  the rest of me can't help but get caught up in her passion—

  A snort plunges the room into sudden silence, and it takes a moment

  to realize that it's coming from me. I huff, choking down a bubble of

  something, and then let it go in a fit of entirely unladylike

  giggles.

  Helena snaps her jaw shut with a click, cheeks flushing a bright red

  as she mumbles something I don't quite catch—too busy laughing. She

  coughs, shakes her head vigorously, and then speaks again.

  "You're laughing at me, aren't—"

  "Gods, n-no," I wave a hand, copying the movement with my

  tail. The gall of a member of the Church telling me what to do with

  my property. She clearly didn't know our history. "No, you're

  fine. Just, here you are, yelling at me about not using my books.”

  I take a calming breath, finally, and spread my mouth in a broad,

  toothy smile. It's more the smile of a beast than a human, and it's a

  very powerful tool available to me.

  ...she flinches. Figures.

  I breathe in and out, collecting my thoughts. "People don't

  usually have the guts for that, Helena. It's just... refreshing, I

  don't know. And a little funny to hear someone go all scholar on me."

  Helena smiles back unsteadily, shifting in her seat. She mumbles

  something, and I have to lean in a bit to listen.

  “...can’t just leave them all to rot, and I want to learn from

  them.”

  I glance over to the corner, where a pot of tea is busily making

  itself. A gentle probe confirms that it’s the cleaning enchantments

  again. I add a little magic to them, just in case.

  “I think they’ll be fine, don’t worry.” I smile at her again,

  then raise a finger to stall her incoming point. “But. Yes, you can

  keep visiting and using my library, sure. I’m not gonna let you

  walk those back to the Restorers, and you’ll have to ask permission

  if you want to bring anyone in here. Once I leave again, ask Benny.

  Other than that, go ahead.”

  She’s smiling broadly now, nodding along. “I—yes! Thank you.

  You don't—this means a lot to me.”

  “I gathered,” I let my grin fade, reaching out for a teacup as

  the whole tray returns. I’m pretty impressed with it, honestly;

  cleaning enchantments aren’t exactly designed to handle teamaking.

  It’s light, sweet, and would go great with some bread.

  “Hey,” I say aloud. “There’s a bakery in town I spotted last

  night, and while I don't do breakfast, I could go for a snack. I need

  to go down anyway for the job, so would you like to come?”

  Helena gives me an odd look before agreeing. Not sure what that’s

  about.

  "I'm not twelve anymore," I grumble, hefting the pack over

  one shoulder. "Benny doesn't need to give me a day pack."

  I see Helena smiling out of the corner of my eye, the traitor.

  "At... at least the view is good?" Helena manages, audibly

  restraining a laugh. "You don't get to see the city laid out

  like this often. Um."

  You don’t, not really. Not unless you live on the cluster of hills

  north of the city, which are largely owned by rich folk like me.

  Helena is understating it, too.

  Craumont is one of those old, pre-Collapse cities: a mess of curves,

  parks, and plazas with only the canal and the main road providing

  semblances of organization. Despite everything, it works, as all

  things Imperial do. It's even nice to walk through—well, except

  when you get almost-mugged like I did.

  And underneath, barely tangible even to my senses, is the pulsing of

  Craumont's ancient Imperial wards. Now those are beautiful.

  "I guess," I say finally, strolling to a stop to take in

  the view. "It's kind of a mess, and it's definitely a bigger one

  than when I left."

  Helena purses her lips, reaching down to fidget with her slacks. I'm

  glad she chose to keep them; it's a much better look on her than the

  purple curtain she called a robe.

  "It's not that bad. And it has gotten bigger! Um, did you leave

  before or after the fire?"

  I suppress a snort. The fire. My cousin’s mother had hired mages to

  ‘upgrade’ the ancient Imperial wards on the city, and the results

  were predictable. "More of an explosion, honestly, I don’t

  know what those city mages were thinking, but sure. What about it?"

  "Well, they made a new district across the tracks and gave it a

  fire brigade after that! I got here a few weeks after.” Helena

  says, standing on the tips of her toes and pointing at the somehow

  even messier sprawl past the train station. I'd seen some on my way

  in, sure, but only the vague shapes that a rainy night offered.

  "Huh," I say, for lack of better words. A slight smile

  crosses my lips. "Thanks for the history lesson."

  Helena flushes a cherry red. "Um. I thought you'd like to hear—"

  "I said thank you. I do want to hear it." I flash a broader

  grin at her, shaking my head. "At least someone cares about this

  damn city, right? I guess has to, since I sure don’t.

  Well, other than Lord Craumont.”

  "I— yes, I do." She sighs, kicking her boot against the

  cobbled path. Without another word, she starts walking away.

  I run a hand through my hair, pulling it over to one side, and start

  up after her. She seems like she could be interesting, and I’ve

  gone and insulted her home. Bleh.

  "You, ah," I start, not quite finding the words. I cough

  and try again. "Helena? I'm paying for breakfast, if you still

  want to join me."

  It takes her a moment to respond, time enough for me to catch up and

  see her confused expression.

  "Of course?" Helena says slowly, "You offered, and I

  trust you."

  She pauses, her green eyes meeting mine. There's an inquisitive spark

  in them, the same one she got earlier when she went off on a rant.

  "Why do you ask?"

  I huff, gesturing off vaguely instead of answering. My tail flicks

  from side to side, carving a divot in the ground. “No reason.”

  She laughs at me— laughs! "So you said it was a bakery. Is it

  the one on Sharrow Avenue? Because their flatbreads are ."

  "Not too far from the constables station, right? I'm not into

  plain flatbreads. Do they have any jams?"

  "Jams? On flatbread? Why?"

  "In case they don't have jam doughnuts, of course."

  “Jam doughnuts? Is that what’s popular in the bigger cities?”

  Time can really fly when talking about food, as it turns out.