(OoC: I liked your post Lucid.)
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The night wind whipped around the desolate streets. A cresent moon lit the scene giving everything a silvery hue giving it the feel of a black and white photograph. The air was wet and the faint smell of fresh grass wafted in from the southern plains. The night was quiet, no question, but a malevolent air hung all around non-the-less. Even since the recent earthquakes the people seemed to head indoors earlier and earlier each night leaving the town almost deserted. And on the steps of a grand cathedral dedicated to the godess Ishtara sat a young girl. Her hair blowing from an easterly breeze.
Elizabeth Elkess had been alone on these streets for days. She had become quite accustomed to being left to her solitude at night. It gave her time to practise her magic. The magic she chose was usually based on her mood yet, lately and due to the harsh nature of the weather, she had taken a particular interest in fire magic. She wasn't up on the name of it and simply called it "pyros" that was what her mother had always referred to it as. She opened her left laying it flat on her knee and tapping her toes against the step below. A small flame danced on her palm, she smiled down at it and it illuminated her eye's making them seem a beautiful shade of emerald. The flame grew in size before blowing away and turning to smoke. Elizabeth clapped her hands together and smiled, squinting with joy. Her wings fluttered sending a black-tipped white feather off on the breeze, beside the smoke.
She stood up and straightened the dress she had been given just days before by her father. She had a spare change of clothes in her satchel which hung at her side, a pearly white tunic embroided with golden trims of leaves. A present for her 8th birthday, made by her mother. Also within this satchel sat scribbled notes on various spells taught by her father. In her hair sat her most treasured posession; a hair clip used to decorate her at the right side of her forehead at her parting.
Elizabeth suddenly felt the sting of the cold night air. No number of days can prepare you for sleeping on the streets and it had never occured to her that she would have to, even when she lost her father in the crowds of a busy market. The dress she wore had no arms and she felt every stab of the night air, she needed to find shelter for the night. She could continue practising there too. The last place she had stayed was out of the question as, just the night before, a drunken human had spat at her and aimed a kick but missed. She got this from time to time, along with names such as "winged-demon" and the likes. She never fully understood what they were talking about but decided it best to steer clear anyway, just in case.
The looming prospect of having to sleep on the pavement washed over her like a wave. She never felt fear, as such, just alone. It was definitely unknown to her to not have anyone, after all, she was only 10 years of age and had always had at least her father to tuck her into bed at night. Still, she found the freedom refreshing and seldom regretted being on her own. She rubbed her hands together to warm them up. As she walked she began thinking through the books she had read about adventures and wondering if her story. was good enough to be written about. She took a left at the old library and saw a wide doorway across the street, the perfect resting point. She crossed over and felt herself shiver though not from the weather. A strange feeling crashed into her head like a train and she knew exactly what it was; somebody was watching her. She span around and her head flew from left to right, her eye's examining every alley, every corner. What she assumed was a man was stood at the corner which she had just come round. He watched her for a few seconds and then about turned and marched off back down the way he had come.
She was certain it was the same man from the night before but his behaviour told her otherwise. In any case she slowly turned back to the doorway. She had gathered a picture of the shadowed figure in her mind but strangely had added long, bat-like wings to him. She smiled at her own imagination and as she reached the doorway she again opened her palm. An orange flame stood once again in her hand, it's glow making the inside of the doorway glow. She sat down against the left wall with her legs stretched out, closing her palm around the flame she lay her head back to rest. Her mind wandered to thoughts of her father, had he left Atarylis and gone back to their house? She doubted it and she dearly missed his company. Yet, she didnt want him to find her, not yet. It was endearing to be fighting for herself for once, even at her age. And she was sick of being called 'child', she was much smarter than half the grown-up she had met so why treat her like a stupid, spoiled brat?
"Excuse me, young lady. Should you really be sitting around in the dark at this hour?"
Elizabeths heart raced and she stood up turning to find the sorce of the voice. She calmed when she saw the figure before her. A small, ageing and balding human stood before her with a grin on his face. It was the man who her father and her had met at the museum of history her in Atarylis, the curator, Mr Milton. Elizabeth put her hand to her chest, closed her eyes and laughed smiling wildly.
"Oh, Mr Milton. You gave me a fright. I thought you were that man back to kick me" she opened her eye's and looked at him from the darkness.
The smile dropped from his face, "oh, and what man might this be?".
"I'm, i'm not sure. He didn't like my wings"
"Ah" he said nodding his head, "one of those fellows, is he? Well never you mind what that sort of riff-raff has to say. There are people like that everywhere, it pains me to say" his smile returned.
"Now, why are you sat here alone? Where is your father?" he continued.
"I'm not entirely sure" replied Elizabeth, "we were seperated about a week ago. I havn't been able to find him, not through lack of trying" she lied.
"I see. Well, we'll find him in the morning shall we? For tonight you may stay in my home. I won't have you staying out alone, dark times looming and all".
He held out his hand for her to take but she refused instead walking beside him down the street. Mr Milton was chatting about elixirs and ancient spells. This would usually have had Elizabeths full attention but for now it was elsewhere. The figure she had seen not 10 minutes ago was back, this time he was stood across the street from them watching as they walked by. Though her mind raced with terrified thoughts she didn't utter a word about it. After all, what if she were simply being silly?
Mr Miltons house was not far away at all, in fact it was just 3 streets away. It's grand windows glistened in the glare of the moonlight, it had an air of sophistication the likes of which Elizabeth had never seen before. As she walked in her thoughts were doubled. Fine oaken furnature lined the walls and more books than even Elizabeth had ever seen. She was truly at awe, a grand chrystal chandlier hung magestically from the ceiling. For a second she wondered how on earth he could afford such grandeur. She snapped out from a trance to see Mr Milton smiling down at her and realised she had just been grinning like a crazy woman. She blushed and looked away putting her hand to her mouth. Mr Milton clasped his hands together still smiling.
"You'll be staying in my daughters room. Don't worry, she's much to old to use it now so you are quite welcome. It's just up the stairs and first door to the right. You can't miss it. Tea? I'll make tea, you must be cold" with that he scurried off through double doors to the right.
Elizabeth moved her hair from her eye's and stuck her right thumb in her mouth sucking softly. This was a habbit her father had said many times will ruin her teeth but she paid no attention. The doorway seemed to be her comfort zone at the moment. She felt that, if she moved, she may break all the pretty things around her and so stood still, frozen to the spot.
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