Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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Lady Varali led the way through the Vinsingh Manor, the small heels of her beaded beige sandals clicking against the tiles. Her long, gleaming hair bounced where it fell down her back as she acknowledged every servant's bow with a curt nod.
They fluttered about, flashes of blue and bronze straightening elaborate tapestries of men and elephants, centring vases painted with pink lotuses and flattening carpets woven with more colours than there were names for. Esmera wondered if they were always like that or only when their mistress was in the vicinity, her sharp eyes certain to catch the slightest detail that was out of place whether or not she was trying to.
Lady Varali turned, leading Esmera, Tauram and Belaren along a corridor flanked by white stone pillars. It cut across a garden dotted with lily ponds and statues of tigers pouncing, fangs bared. They were as realistically rendered in stone as Belaren's grandfather had been from gold, and just the right size to be dangerous if they were to come to life.
Esmera ducked out of reach of an enormous paw that was too close to her for her liking. Tauram's hand was still on her shoulder as it always seemed to be as if he was afraid she'd get lost in this strange place that was a new and enchanting piece of Milatanur's many cultures. Her eyes may wander, entranced, bewitched, but she wouldn't stray from Tauram's side as long as he was next to her.
Belaren strode ahead of Esmera and Tauram, just a few steps behind his sister, probably as eager as the servants to avoid her cool, unsettling eyes and their disapproval.
Dew still glittered on the blades of grass, a beautiful reminder of how dreadfully early it was.
Esmera often woke up this early for work if she had the first shift, but she had never been this tired on those mornings. Then again, she had never awoken in this part of the world, where the day was a few hours ahead of where it would be in Esmera's home state.
Esmera should be going to bed right about now, looking forward to the day's only hours of peace from the assault of her thoughts and the painful pinch of her circumstances.
Maybe that was the problem. Never had Esmera travelled far enough away from home to suffer from jet lag, this sense of feeling like she was in a different time of day than the one that so clearly dawned all around her. It was new to her, part of the adventure that Milatanur was, but not the most comfortable of experiences.
Lady Varali's shoes clattered onwards as they entered the section of the manor that awaited them at the end of the long passage. Wooden panels held the floor above them over their heads. Within two steps, the ceiling opened, and Esmera was looking up at the green balustrades containing the upper levels of the manor behind them.
Without warning, Lady Varali took a sharp right and started up the flight of stairs dominating the hall with their winding magnificence.
Ahead was another passage, flanked by dark wooden doors. They were interrupted by windows that looked out into the foggy morning settling over the mountain. Chains of bright flowers hung above them, whispering secrets Esmera hurried by too fast to hear. Lady Varali's sandals glimmered in the weak light as she strode onward.
