Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
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The sky was overcast. It had just stopped raining, the moisture in the air still thick and smelled of upturned earth. Right on time for Arya to get to work.
She fixed the bonnet thrown over her bundled up hair, making sure the lace was tied nicely under her chin. The wind could rise up any time, tear her hat off her head, and expose the wild mane of bright red hair tucked underneath. People would stare. They always do at the smallest whiff of her hair.
Her footsteps clacked against thousands of others in the busy roads of Aldermere this early hour in Qetrevon. It was the first working day of the week so there was still a bounce on the steps of some people as they tore along the cobbled roads.
Arya pursed her lips, wrapping her overcoat tighter than the corset she wore around her waist. Her buckled, leather shoes splashed over a small puddle of muddy rainwater, almost throwing her off-balance. She righted herself on time.
She, however, failed to drive away the attention of a middle-aged man reading the morning prints from the nearby coffee shop. He stared at her like he knew what was going on in her soul. She gave him a quick nod and went on her way. Thankfully, she felt the piercing tack vanish from the back of her neck.
The complexes of flats flanking the streets dwarfed her as she walked past them. Shops slotted on the ground floor clustered in their busy routines. She lost count of how many workers had been polishing their glass front windows since she left her flat and how many of them had flitted about in their fancy uniforms carrying boxes and baskets.
It was a busy morning, one telling Arya to hurry up so she could be the same.
A series of loud clunks came from behind her. She turned just in time to glimpse a wirebus edging from the bend and coming up towards the single shed a few meters ahead of her. She quickened her strides, the wedge heels of her shoes tapping away. Let her hope there weren't any more sneaky potholes waiting for her.
She hopped into the shed's raised platform just as the wirebus skidded to a stop. The wires snaking through the sky whined and shook. Then, with a hiss, the mechanical doors slid open and a new mass of bodies fanned out.
Her lips curled into themselves as she bounced on the balls of her feet, waiting for the last of the passengers to trickle out of this present car. When the last of them, an elderly woman armed with a cane and a posh, intricately-designed bag, stepped onto the platform, Arya bolted towards the car with a quick, purposeful stride.
Delight swirled in her gut when she saw her favorite seat unoccupied. She dashed towards it and settled it with a fervor nobody else understood but her. All of the wirebuses have this seat, one facing the widest window in the car and was slotted right next to the door. There was no other seat situated opposite it, giving her an unobstructed view of the flitting cityscape. It was even more entertaining to watch when the wirebus was already rolling over its tracks, tearing through the heart of Aldermere.
