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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As if the dreams were mocking her, that night, they were joyful.
Arya had to watch the girl dance around the house she shared with the senile woman. The girl had a silly smile plastered on her face even as she was sweeping the floor, washing clothes, or even feeding the immobile owner of the house. What happened? What had the dreams not shown to Arya? Had she missed something?
The last thing she was aware of was the girl receiving the pebble from a mystery sender. Whoever that was used larks and knew about their incredible homing and tracking skills. Did the girl meet the mystery sender, perhaps? Had they found each other?
Also, why was the girl going through the senile woman's old clothes and trying them on in front of a splotchy mirror?
Arya was in no mood to follow through all this nonsense. She would rather get her restful sleep and forget most of the bad things in her life for at least eight hours. It wasn't like she had a choice, though. The dream raged on, shifting to the girl finally deciding on a glittering gray dress. Then, the girl waved her hands over it. Light flashed and wrapped around her lithe body. With Arya watching and unable to cover her eyes, it slapped her dream eyeballs. It didn't hurt like it normally would, though.
When the light faded, the girl now stood in front of the mirror, clad in one of the grandest gowns Arya has ever seen. Awe colored her insides. Was that...magic? Had she just seen magic at play, even if most of it was just light? Amazing.
Then, the scene shifted to a depiction of a festival. Arya weaved through hazy blobs of people running around either in celebration or in a grouch because they have to work during some sort of a holiday. What's going on?
A carriage streamed past the commotion, catching Arya's attention. Peeking through the small window at the back of the carriage were traces of the feather wings she had come to associate with the girl. So, Arya did the most sensible thing in this dream world. She ran after the carriage.
They arrived in front of an elaborate castle which could only exist in the time of the Old Kingdom. Walls as tall as the heavens flanked bridges and moats leading to a mansion hewn out of stone. Towering spires bore flags of the empire's characteristic color. However, against the sun, Arya couldn't make out the crest inscribed on them. Bummer. She could have found clues on whose reign this whole thing was taking place.
But seeing the carriage pull up to a set of stairs and the girl stride upwards, Arya concluded this was a special event determined by royalty and, for some reason, the girl had access to it. What happened to the days in the mines and the bland afternoons of sweeping floors? Was this girl a secret fae princess after all?
Her question was answered when her attention fell over the flock of stately-dressed ladies gathered in irregular circles and cliques on the wide landing. The expansive wooden doors remained closed, barring the rest of them from seeing what's behind those ornate surfaces.
