When I would find the time to visit Historia, I focused on whatever lesson she had for me, which was becoming increasingly more difficult as work with Jadis was more urgent now that I was also providing resources for my mentor. However, as I took notes and added plant designs to my notebook, I would work on my writing within the library whenever I had finished an assignment from Historia. Between her private and public work, she would still come over to me often to observe my studies, always encouraging me, and, always, pushing for me to rethink of my writing abilities of creating informative books, especially now about herbalism.

  “You’ve got a lot of good stuff,” Historia said during one of those times. “You could help a lot of people with these writings. For only being fifteen years old, you are really concise and organized.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe in the future,” I replied while shifting my legs as I sat on them in my chair. “Right now I’d rather focus only on what I need to learn for myself.”

  “You know, if it wasn’t for people sharing knowledge, you wouldn’t be here right now.” I stopped sketching and looked up at Historia. Her fingers lightly tapped her waistcoat pocket while she held a book in her other hand, and she slowly tilted her head, causing the chains along her ears to sway.

  “I know,” I said, my throat feeling dry. “It’s not that I don’t want to help people, I just—“

  I stopped. My mother’s harsh words entered my mind; my father’s condescending voice echoed. My chest felt heavy as I tried finding the right words to explain the conflict welling within my heart. Historia was kind and thoughtful, always encouraging me to learn and grow, but, she also had freedoms as an independent woman running her own life.

  “What are your parents like?” I asked, the dryness of my throat scratching my voice.

  “My parents?” Historia’s thin eyebrows raised. She placed her hand under her chin as she pondered. “I don’t know! They abandoned me as a baby!”

  “What? Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

  “Hey, it’s alright. That was a long time ago. That’s how I ended up with my grandfather. He found me abandoned in a ditch. He took me as his own, and raised me.”

  “That was really kind of him. I’m really glad he did that. Otherwise…”

  “Best thing ever, actually. I don’t know why my parents left me behind. Maybe something bad happened to them; maybe they couldn’t keep me. Babies are quite the nuisances after all. I don’t know, but all I know is the kindness of grandfather created a life for me. He also raised three other kids who he found along his journeys, although they were a bit older. I guess he learned babies were not easy to raise after me.” Historia laughed, her smile ever so contagious.

  “He sounds like an amazing man.” I fidgeted with the feather quill as guilt rose within my chest for assuming too much about Historia, feeling as if I judged her too quick on account of my own personal experiences.

  “My siblings and I are, of course, grateful for him and all that he provided. It wasn’t an easy life, but I was never without.”

  “Where is your grandfather?”

  “That is an excellent question.” She laughed again, and began adjusting her spectacles. “He leaves from time to time to work on his alchemy. I don’t know, though. He’s getting old and I’m beginning to worry about his health. You see, he isn’t thinking as strong as he used to.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “No, my older brother Daviis is with him. They should return together—one of these days. Hey! You should meet them. I’m the youngest of the bunch, but probably the most mature. But, they’re pretty cool people, and quite interesting, to say the least.”

  “Where are your other siblings?”

  “Hm? Here and there. Since we traveled the world with grandfather, we all picked up special interests and skills. Obviously mine is collecting knowledge through books, teaching, and I love cartography—map making, to be precise. Daviis is similar to grandfather, learning alchemy—was his apprentice actually. Maviir, Daviis’ twin sister, prefers weaponry and fighting skills, and finally Piya is—well, he prefers to live nomadically. He probably would get along with your Teragane friend. He’s a sheep farmer now, living in the valley towards the North East here in Ciimera. I wouldn’t be surprised if he trades with the Teragane people. One day, we should go to my old childhood home.”

  “Your family sounds so fascinating.”

  “Yeah, all thanks to grandfather, saving all of us runts from unlikely places. When he returns, you can meet him and Daviis. I think you would like them. I know for sure that they’ll love you.”

  “Why do you stay here in Cedrus City, instead of exploring the world?”

  “Well, to be honest, I spent my whole life on the road. The city isn’t all that bad. My dream is to open a school one day. Unfortunately, the world isn’t as welcoming as it seems. It’s hard to gather books, or find writers”— She suddenly winked, and I rolled my eyes —“or people who want to learn. Not everyone is willing to allow books and knowledge to influence their towns. It’s why this library is so special here in Cedrus City. But, it is far from complete. Actually, I’ve been really enjoying educating the people of the city despite the fact I haven’t had any success at opening an official school. Grandfather Maggie warned me that danger arises whenever organized education is provided.”

  “What do you mean?” I slid my legs over the edge of my seat as they grew numb from my weight, and Historia seated herself next to me as she placed the book about masonry onto the surface of the table.

  “When I was a kid, we travelled through the provinces, but always on account of whatever grandfather was caught up in. It wasn’t easy, and there are a lot of dangerous places that are most unfriendly to anyone who carries something of value—including knowledge. We had to flee many locations due to grandfather’s abilities, but, that has never deterred any of us to pursue what we are most passionate about. I’d like to establish better maps of the areas, especially Ciimera. Huh. Would be nice to be a Teragane and fly above the lands and just avoid the dirt paths. Yeah, that would be convenient, wouldn’t it? Too bad I wasn’t born with wings.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Anyway, it’s hard to find maps. Books and maps, the two most difficult things to get my hands on, for people never seem to have the ability to create these things—or last throughout history. Oh! And finding traveling buddies is also quite difficult. It isn’t safe to be a solo traveler.”

  Historia gave out a laugh, and I looked around her library. It seemed to me she did a wonderful job finding plenty of books. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how limited the subjects were.

  “In all honesty,” Historia continued while tapping the spine of the book about masonry. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye out on Grandfather Maggie while he’s here, especially when he’s doing his work upstairs. Alchemy can easily burn down a house.”

  “And your future school? You’re a really good teacher.” Historia smiled, then winked.

  “Another endeavor I would need others to help me with. Who knows, Lillie. Who knows what the future has for us.”

  Historia leaned forward as she gently patted my hand. She waited next to me as she told me about the man who wanted to learn more about masonry, and eventually left after he had returned for the book in which she would help read to him on account of strengthening his skill.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about all that Historia had told me, and left the library to travel to the inner city to retrieve our weekly food from the allotment. I was given less than expected, but the feeble worker explained that there were food shortages within the farmlands due to poor weather. I attempted to negotiate further, but they shook their head, and their fearful eyes darted over to the large Keeper who was watching me intently, his gloved hands tapping the wooden mace upon his waist.

  “Just go already,” the worker hissed while waving their hands, but it was already too late. The ground slightly shook as the Keeper moved closer to me, and he leaned over my shoulder, and foul breath permeated near my ear.

  “Do you want more food?” the Keeper whispered rather loudly, and a shiver ran down my spine as his tense chest muscles caused the leather armor to squeak as he flexed.

  “This is enough,” I replied, but he grabbed my neck, slightly stroking my skin with his sausage-like thumb and claw-like fingernail.

  “If you give me something else, I’ll let you have some extra food,” he said, this time quietly.

  Damn—I hate the city.

  “Oh! Are you gonna be my new daddy?” I squealed as I turned my head and pouted my lips. The Keeper moved his head back as he snarled his protruding teeth, and I only continued. “Oh! Yes! Can I bring all my brothers and sisters? There are twenty of us, and we are all so hungry. Will you promise to feed and bathe us? Little Mako has leprosy, so his skin is very delicate. Oh, he’s not supposed to touch anyone, though, but I still give him baths every night. Sometimes my skin gets itchy, though.”

  The Keeper’s eyes widened, and I could detect beads of sweat pile on his large forehead, and he finally removed his hand from my neck. Other city dwellers cast confused expressions, but some snickered as they most likely caught onto my ploy.

  “Oh, please be my new daddy and help me at least take care of Mako!” I shouted and pressed my hands together, folding my fingers and pouting my lips. “I’m so tired of being the only one to take care of my sick little brother. We need someone like you, so big and strong!”

  “Get out of here!” the Keeper snarled, and grabbed the hilt of the mace upon his waist, and wiped his other hand upon his tunic as fear swept across his ugly face.

  “But you said you’d give me more food!” I shouted again, causing an eruption of laughter from the onlookers, and the Keeper stumbled backwards as others began calling out for the man to adopt the poor, helpless inflicted orphans.

  It wasn’t until two other Keepers emerged with already drawn weapons that I finally gave one final act of pathetic whimpering, then scampered away with only a basket half full.

  I groaned as I passed through the streets, casting my head backwards at the embarrassment of it all, but my ever so cleverness on how to evade the wrath of those beastly men.

  Life may not be all about money, but if I could afford to buy food all the time, then I wouldn’t have to rely on that stupid place.

  And avoid having to humiliate myself.

  Yet, they weren’t the only ones I was dreading to hear from that day.

  As I entered the kitchen, immediately my mother accused me of giving away our food again, and I quickly explained the situation from the allotment and the decrease in food supplies.

  “You should have begged for more than this!” my mother shouted while holding the basket I had brought home. I huffed heavily, already frustrated with the experience, holding back the desire to scream, cry, or pound my fist upon the table.

  “You know that doesn’t convince them.”

  “Well, maybe if you would focus on getting more money, then you could have bribed them, like the others do.”

  “Yeah, then that just encourages the Keepers to continue treating people unfairly. And that isn’t the only thing they want—just so you know.”

  “I don’t care! What matters is that this isn’t nearly enough for me to host my friends this week!”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “That is the least of my concern!”

  “How dare you be so selfish!”

  I spun around on my heel and swiftly exited the kitchen, rolling my eyes and ignoring my mother’s comments of how ungrateful and useless I was to her. I was accustomed to her scornful attitude, but that day I felt too enraged to argue, especially as the tightness in my chest caused my heart to beat erratically, and tears were forming within my already stinging eyes.

  A perfectly good morning spent with Historia was wasted on the city annoyances and my mother’s disdain, but I realized that the upcoming full moon was arriving soon, and I allowed myself the joy of looking forward to seeing Sable again.

  I had already arranged with my mentors of my absence during the moon phases, to which neither questioned nor complained, allowing me the freedom to venture through the forest. It was only avoiding my parents’ during those days that provided a challenge, and upon my mother’s frustration about the lack of food for her hosted-meeting with friends, I simply felt like I had to shield myself from her never ending complaints.

  After sneaking bits of dried fruit and bread from the kitchen storage, I packed my basket with the food and blanket, and hurried out of the house well after I had completed all my other chores. I often wished I could bring more, for Sable often enjoyed whatever I brought him—except for the radish I had received from my neighbor, bringing it for him to try in a mashed up spread on bread.

  That he called it horrendous.

  When I saw the glorious sunlight from the clearing ahead after walking through the forest, my heart began to flutter. All my racing thoughts and heavy guilt upon my chest began to subside as I anticipated exiting the darkness of the looming trees, leaving the horrors of the city far behind where it belonged—far away from my peaceful escape.

  When I was in the meadow, I felt like I could breathe, and that I could leave my hard life in the darkness and enjoy a little light for once. As the wind blew through my loose hair, I felt relieved, as if I entered a different world where my problems did not exist, and something else did.

  Him.

  Although Historia and Jadis were kind to me, their age differences made a huge impact on my ability to see them as a friend. They were wise, knowledgeable, and I could not see myself anywhere near to be equal—not like my young heart desired.

  With Sable, he was my one friend who I felt comfortable to be myself around. Obviously, he didn’t understand some of my frustrations, but the more we were growing up, the more I was thankful I had someone in my life who was the least problematic to be around. In addition, I liked him for who he was. I liked the way he pondered, and the way he spoke, even if it was very little at times.

  I wondered a lot about him and his solitary life on the mountain, and if he would always abide by his ritualistic lifestyle. I also liked the way he sat quietly next to me, never complaining about my food, even if it was dry or difficult to eat—a rarity in the city as even the beggars complained after I would give them what they asked.

  Sable never complained, nor used my flaws or weaknesses against me. Even if he abided by the Teragane solitary life, he still returned to the meadow to visit me—obviously he really cared about me and valued our friendship.

  My heart fluttered at the sudden concept—the sudden realization that I cared about him more than anyone else.

  “Sable!” I shouted after entering the meadow. He stood at the edge of the cliff, but his wings flinched as he turned around, spotting me from the distance. His stoic expression softened as he jumped into the air, and extended his wings as he glided over to me while I laid the blanket down upon the swaying grass. Immediately, I presented the food while settling onto the ground, and he, as usual, ate happily while quietly sitting next to me.

  “You look well, today,” I said.

  “Did I not look well before?” he asked while raising a single brow. I smiled, but soon began laughing, causing him to only further scrunch his brows.

  “Oh, Sable—you’re so funny. I’m glad to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too.” He reached out for another piece of dried fruit, asking what it was, and as I spoke about the different fruits from the allotment that came from the farmlands, he slowly lay on his side as his eyes drifted off as if he were always waiting for me to ramble on so he could relax under the sun in the meadow. I watched him breathe deeply, the feathers upon his wings rustle in the wind, and his eyes darted as he observed butterflies and insects bouncing in the grass.

  I wanted to know more about him, but it was so hard to get him to open up, but also I felt like I had to respect his people’s secrets. I did not know how to ask without crossing those unsaid rules. He was as mysterious as the moon in the night sky. I examined his clothes, once again, wondering where he would obtain the black, woolen materials and who made his clothes. Did he make it himself? He spoke about a Sage doing the tattoo rituals, perhaps the Sage were some type of caregivers. If his parents had left him alone, perhaps that’s why they had the Sage. What about his friends? Did they help each other?

  As I examined him move onto his back, resting upon a boulder that allowed his wings to slightly rest at his sides, his foot bounced, and I noticed his black boots and wondered the same things. Although his clothes covered most of his body, his brown skin from his hands and face enamored me. Then, his eyes opened sleepily as he peered up at the sky. The red rubies seemed to glisten in the sunlight, yet a sudden realization of how terrifying of a figure he could represent if I had ever met him in a dark alley or a forest. His mysterious, cryptic figure with ruby red eyes was something of legends, something told of monsters lurking within the forest.

  Yet, he wasn’t a monster. He was so kind and so peaceful. So, even though his physical appearance was something considered terrifying, because I knew him as he was, his aura displayed a happy, wonderful person who I very much enjoyed being with. I felt accepted and appreciated by him. His lack of words sometimes felt like he was apathetic towards me, yet he never felt condescending. Maybe annoyed sometimes at my complaints, but he was never cruel—not like my parents. Only honest and direct. I appreciated this about him. I loved how direct he was, quiet, yes, but direct when something was on his mind. Perhaps he didn’t speak as much because he enjoyed listening to others—a rare attribute from my personal experience with Tamarines.

  “Sable?” I said, unable to break away from my thoughts about him.

  “Yes?” he replied, his maturing voice cracking a little.

  “What is your favorite color?” As he slowly lifted his long, dark lashes, he looked over at me.

  “Green,” he said, quicker than I expected, and a grin crossed his sun-kissed face, his sharp canine teeth glistening. For an instant, I thought about why he would answer green. The grass was green, the valleys below were vibrant colors of it. He saw it from his sky view all the time, perhaps it meant the warm days of the year where he could fly without weather disturbances. But, as his red eyes stared deeply into mine, a sudden thought startled me.

  Is it—is it because of my green eyes?

  I felt my cheeks turn hot, blushing at the idea, and I turned to look away. I began scratching at my arm, feeling suddenly strange and fully aware of the burning sensation upon my skin. Normally, I felt the rise of heat when I was angry, but I didn’t feel such emotions at that moment—this was different.

  “What is yours?” he asked, his voice cracking again. My mind went nearly blank while only his red eyes lingered in my mind. But, was it my favorite color? I hesitated, alarmed by my thoughts.

  “Blue,” I said quickly, looking up. “Like the color of the sky—something I don’t get to see very often.”

  “Blue is also a beautiful color,” he said, his voice sounding suddenly deeper than usual. I felt his eyes scanning over me, then he returned to gaze up at the sky as he continued smiling.

  As I walked back to my home well into the afternoon, I thought about Sable’s answer about his favorite color. I assumed a lot of him since he did not say much. But, as I began exploring the reasonings behind his answers, my heart began to flutter and a warm fuzzy feeling overcame my stomach.

  It felt like butterflies were fluttering around inside me. All I could think about was his smile, his quick answer, and his remark about the color blue. Most boys I interacted with were mean, bullying me to tears or into a wrestling match to prove my worth. I hated the way men treated me, and shuddered at any interaction with disgusting men in the city who were looking to cause me harm.

  Yet, Sable was different. Obviously, different than my kind, living a contrasting life than mine, but were these different feelings about him also okay? Up until then, I always thought of Sable as my friend. Now, something felt different.

  Does Sable—like me?

  Do I like him?

  My cheeks grew hot again without an ounce of anger within my heart, and I twirled my long brown hair as I giggled to myself walking through the forest path. I had read stories about love—fairytales as some would call it. Historia never encouraged me to read or listen to ballads of love, stating that it was usually unrealistic and could set people up for disappointment. I knew that she had already warned me about an inevitable separation from Sable as a religious Teragane, yet, I allowed, for a moment, to feel the butterflies within my stomach.

  I looked up at the trees, and I noticed a group of ravens perched on the branches. Their black feathers only brought more warm feelings as I allowed my mind to wander about my evolving feelings for Sable. Even as I entered through the overgrown archway, I felt less aware of the overcrowded buildings, and thought less of my disdain for the city. I skipped along the smooth, stone streets, blissfully unaware of the angered fists as merchants shouted about an unfair trade, or the pounding of the blacksmith’s hammer upon the anvil. Not even the braying donkey I nearly ran into rounding a corner could upset me.

  It was only when I entered my home did I become fully aware of the tragic surroundings and its heavy weight of stifling demands.

  I paused in the hallway, seeing the door to my room wide open, and my heart went from fuzzy, warm feelings to sudden fear.

  I heard my father’s unmistakable grunts and my mother nagging with her shrill voice.

  I dragged my feet as if they were made of stone, and entered the doorway leading to my bedroom, and my heart all but stopped.

  “Where have you been?” my mother roared, paralyzing me in place, and only my eyes moved as I saw a pile of books in my father’s arms.

  “Where did you get these?” he demanded while grimacing.

  “From a friend,” I replied.

  “What friend? Who? No wonder you are so distracted all the time!” my mother shouted while lifting her hands in the air.

  “I forbid you ever seeing this friend again,” my father said, and he lifted my notebook I had been working extensively on. “Books are nothing but a distraction from the real world. Any friend who could own these can only be a bad influence.”

  “That’s not true!” I argued, finally feeling my strength return. I ran to him, and attempted to grab my notebook, but he pushed me away with his elbow. “Please! That’s mine! I’ve been writing what I’ve been learning with Jadis!”

  He trudged down the hall, holding all the books I had borrowed from Historia that week, including the notebook, a single feather quill, and bottle of ink. My heart sank even more as he grunted while moving into the kitchen, heading straight to the roaring fire.

  “Please! Those are not my books, they belong to the Library of Historia!” I shouted as I followed my father, my mother sneering from behind.

  “Ha! A library!” my mother shouted. “You are such a liar—stealing books that you cannot even read!”

  “Father, please, just let me return the books,” I pleaded, ignoring my mother. “They are for the community. They’re not mine!”

  “And give you another chance at deceiving me about your whereabouts?” he replied while creaking his thick neck. “No! You must never touch another book again. I forbid you! You must learn the realities of this life.” He moved a book forward, and my eyes widened as it hovered near the entrance of the open fireplace.

  “No! You can’t burn them!” I exclaimed and grabbed his thick, arm, but, alas, a full grown Tamarine mine worker was too strong for me, and he shoved me aside, and my mother grabbed my neck, pinching me firmly as tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “I do this for your own good,” he grunted. “No working-class child needs to fill their heads with unrealistic expectations of ever being anything other than what you were born into. You are my daughter, not some child of a pompous, bastard who’s never worked a day in their life. Books are for the higher ups who bring us all harm and misery. You will not be one of them, nor be friends with anyone like them.”

  With my mother’s grip on my neck and her nagging in my ear about how stupid I was to think I could ever achieve rising ranks by reading, I watched in horror as my father, one by one, threw the books and writing tools into the fire.

  The orange flames engulfed the beautiful leather spines of a well crafted binding that represented something starkly different for me than for my parents. While they continued to snarl about the politics of education being a symbol of aristocratic privileges, I slumped onto my knees, and watched as each beautiful book turned black, and the white feather quill curled as it vanished to dust.

  Bits of escaping papers of my notebook fluttered out of the fireplace, sizzling into nothing but ash, burning all sense of accomplishment of all the work I had put into learning and studying under Jadis and Historia.

  Numbness overtook my body, and I didn’t even know when my mother had released her pinching grip on my neck, nor could I feel the pain surging through my knees as I knelt on the hard, wooden floor. The bottle of ink suddenly exploded, and I covered my face as shards of glass splintered from the raging fireplace, causing my mother to shriek, but my father stood firm in his stance.

  “You will thank me later,” he said, and slowly began moving past me. “You are a child of the Divcii District. You must know your place.” I glanced up at him, trying to see his cruel demeanor through my blurred vision. However, for a moment, I saw only pain in his eyes. I didn’t understand at the time, nor wanted to, but I wondered how much of his own pain of never creating more than a hard life for himself was he projecting onto his own daughter.

  “You need to stop this nonsense,” he said rather softly. “It’s time you face reality and get a real job. Otherwise, reality will not be so kind to you as I am. It’s time to put away your silly ideas—you cannot act like a child forever, nor can you even hope to become anything other than what you were born into.”

  “You think the world will treat you as good as us?” my mother sneered at my other side. “The world is much harsher and will show no mercy to a silly girl like you. It’s time you grow up. It’s no wonder you’ve become such a disappointment.”

  “That’s enough,” my father grunted, and I bent my head forward, still slumped onto my knees. I could hear my mother sneer, but my father laid a gentle hand upon my head, as if he were now defending me after ripping me apart with his cruel enactment.

  As they moved out of the kitchen, I picked up a few pieces of hot glass that lay upon the dirty floor, and the burning pages of ashes still fell near my side. I dared not look up, nor move, and knew that I would be expected to clean the fireplace after it died down and sweep the floor now being covered in the ashes of my broken dreams.

  I knew that my time with Historia was over. I would never be able to meet her grandfather, or siblings, nor set foot inside the magical world of the library. I could never touch a book again—not while I lived in my parents’ wretched house.

  I remembered Sable taking my book to have it burned, and now I sat in front of the very fire burning my most recent work, indicating that fire was more harmful than any elite or aristocrat in my life.

  The glowing fire reminded me of Sable’s red eyes, and suddenly I began to resent him as the first to threaten my joy by burning my first book.

  All fluttering feelings had vanished, and my heart was only filled with a fire of hate, specifically towards anyone who threatened what brought me happiness.