Asher the Insane

90 - Papia Barbera De Wimmer - 04

As I stood behind the divider, I felt a sense of déjà vu as I slipped into yet another dress from the pile of options. The dresses seemed to blend together, with their laces, ribbons, and frills. Would I ever find the perfect one?

Once I was dressed, I emerged from behind the divider to show my new elven companion. His pensive expression was enough to tell me that he wouldn't approve of this one either. I felt a pang of disappointment. I had already tried on numerous dresses, but none seemed to "fit" the occasion. It seemed as though no matter what I tried, it just wasn't enough.

As I watched him scrutinize not only the dresses but also the shoes, jewelry, gloves, hats, and hairpins that accompanied them, I couldn't help but wonder: were elves really this concerned about creating a fashion faux pas? It was clear that every detail had to be just right.

I was exhausted. Even just putting on one of the dresses properly took me at least ten minutes. The corsets were tight; the skirts were heavy, and the shoes were uncomfortable. They squeezed and put pressure on places I really wished that they didn't.

If we didn't find the right dress soon, I was going to have to take another shower. Luckily, the Inn we stayed in was in the rich district of the city; The Sweet And Sour Crows was a lovely place to stay at. The shower in our suite somehow always had magically replenished water at just the right temperature. I haven't felt such warmth for a long, long time. If I could take one thing with me after this experience, it would be the water. My hair was greasy and filled with muck, but now it was clean, smooth, still wet, and smelled of lilac.

As I stood there, feeling both frustrated and grateful, I asked myself if Asher had any idea of how much effort went into looking good. But then again, maybe that's just how it was for elves. They seemed to have a certain grace and elegance that came effortlessly to them. For me, it was a constant struggle.

The inn was run by elves, for elves. No wonder its quality was so high. However, I soon discovered that it wasn't just for any elves.

According to the innkeeper, Snow, Wildlings, and Moon elves were not allowed to stay at the inn. It was as if they were seen as the lower rungs of the elf races. I felt a sense of unease at this revelation. How could elves, who were often regarded as a symbol of grace and wisdom, be so discriminatory towards their own kind?

On the other hand, Drow and Sun elves were high-priority guests, and the type of elf that Asher was - a High Elf - was the most sought-after. I wonder why this was the case? Was it because High Elves were considered the most powerful and influential among the elf races? Or was there some other reason that I was unaware of?

As I stood behind the divider, trying on a new dress, I couldn't help but think about the concept of discrimination among the elves. It was a difficult topic to grasp, especially since I was an outsider looking in. But Asher seemed to understand my thoughts, even before I voiced them.

"You're thinking about elf racism, aren't you?" he said, his voice echoing softly through the divider.

I hesitated for a moment before answering. "Kinda?" I said, unsure of how to articulate my thoughts.

"You know, I don't even understand why there are so many races categorized as elves--I'm an elf right now. High or low, bright or dark, are they all elves somehow? Hard to believe. I think we could split up most of them and make them their own races. No something-elf nonsense. Pointy ears and lifespan are the only characteristics that unites them all, which is hardly anything at all.

Maybe they all descended from a single elf? Or something like a proto-elf ancestor. That would make sense. Elven evolution, so to say.

As I listened to Asher's musings on elf races, I felt a bit perplexed. I had never really thought about it before, but he made a good point. Why were there so many different types of elves? It did seem a bit excessive to classify them all under one label. I wondered if there were other races that were similarly diverse and yet grouped together.

Asher's mention of elf lore piqued my interest, and I couldn't help but feel a bit envious of his knowledge. As an outsider to his world, there was so much that I didn't know. I wondered if there were books or texts that I could read to learn more about the history and culture of these different elf races.

I thought he was finished but then began again, "Maybe I'm a bigot for questioning these kinds of things? What race are you anyway, Papia? Just plain old human? Do you know if one of your parents is something else? For all you know, you may be quarter something."

"As far as I know, yes, I'm just a plain old human, but what would it matter if I am something else? Quarter this or half that, it wouldn't change what I am."

He replied, "Nevertheless, it does matter to me," and called out, "Faye, if you will."

He searched above, below, and around me, and after a moment, he declared, "Hmm, according to this, you're three fourths elf, specifically Faen, an arcane elf."

"WHAT?" I said, shocked.