Behind the Clouds

It Was All A Dream

The town was as it usually was this afternoon. 

Homes and shops were piled along the hill, delicately built into the naturally sloping landscape. Their roofs and latticed windows betrayed their traditional Britannian design, the outlying wooden eaves painted dark browns or blacks. 

Each building was decorated to its purpose, some painted brightly to portray their purposes as shops, others dotted and speckled with sweet-smelling and full-bloomed flowers to display the wonders of a green thumb, and others owning iron railings that rimmed fancy balconies.

The towering columns of chimneys stood out against the baby blue sky, each plume of smoke that spilled out belonging to the bustling factories within. If it was quiet enough, you would hear the turning of the gears and cogs and iron presses all the way across town. But that was only if the town was empty or if the train was not running on that particular day.

The local train ran through the centre of the settlement. Bridges were built across the walled canal it run upon, the black metal railings being the only barrier between you and the rushing locomotive below if you were crossing at the wrong time of day. A plain wall also ran along the edge of the train track to keep the town's citizens safe and sound, stained black from the constant soot and ash.

This particular town, however, took a wonderful proactive towards looking after their citizens around the trains. Therefore everyone in town knew when the trains were coming and going, the familiar chugging of its engines and gears coming at the same time every day.

As per usual for the day, the train rattled by on its daily afternoon trek, its curling ashen smog pouring into the clear sky. It sifted along its narrow canal, spilling onto the windows of the buildings perched nearby. Plumes splashed onto the clear glass, obscuring the inhabitants within, but they didn't particularly mind.

Elizabeth continued to stitch at her hat, tuning out the idle chattering of her fellow apprentice milliners. She held a beautiful red wide-rim piece, the fabric a gentle yet vibrant shade of scarlet. It was themed after the autumn season, and on it Elizabeth had added some dried pine cones and purple satin leaves. 

She was now stitching on some polished red beads, the items similar to gleaming red berries that grew within the bushes just outside of town. The young woman had been working on this particular piece for a while, her concentration set on the hat rather than her bandaged fingers.

Her workstation, well room, was quite alright in size. Her desk was pushed right against the window, giving her a wonderful view of the town whilst she worked, and was adorned in an organised mess. Fabrics, material flowers and anything that could be used in her stitching works, were all spread across the desk. A first aid kit was also present, the lid open in case Elizabeth were to prick her finger once more.

Her silver hair was kept within a braid, to keep all fly away hairs out of her face, and she wore a simple dark dress and apron. As she worked, Elizabeth's blue eyes blinked and her button nose scrunched. Two sets of feathered wings protruded from her back, angelic and pure, giving away her genetic heritage.

Elizabeth was a goddess. Yes, a goddess. She was one of the few that had survived the past wars and had migrated towards the kingdom of Camelot for help. Her mother had fled when things had seemed dire, and as a result Elizabeth had grown up within the confines of this town.

Like most wealthy women, Elizabeth's mother had expected her daughter to be a trophy wife like herself, someone who would marry a well-off rich man, but Elizabeth had not wanted that. She didn't want endless strings of divorces and loose threads; she didn't wish to become her mother. 

So Elizabeth decided to become an apprentice in a local hatter's shop, leaving her mother to wallow in her newest marriage to yet another well-off aristocratic man.