Girl of Iron and Magic

38.

37.
18 MONTHS BEFORE THE WAR

At fifteen, Lotte lived alone again. It was easy to settle into life at Sullivan Tower—remarkably easy.

She was alone, but wasn't lonely.

All Lottes were abandoned children in one way or another, she was no different.

Her little room became a shrine of the things that made her who she was. To get by, she sold small enchanted art pieces on street corners. She'd spread a woven rug and showcase her latest drawings with the price tags attached to the canvas or frames on pieces of twine. She made sure not to draw anything that would gain her fame or dub her a genius artist. Simple things for simple people who enjoyed some beauty in their homes.

If her drawings made them healthier, or luckier, or braver, that was chalked off as coincidence.

Her small paper talismans were quite popular with university students taking exams. There were those who swore by these talismans, claiming they made their minds sharper.

But not everybody wanted to buy things from 'that pale Lotte'. It was a time of brewing tensions in Raidox. More often than not, Lotte received sinister looks from those who passed by her rug.

It could've been easier, on the surface, to pretend to be human. But she had enough of that.

A pair of unusually polished shoes with golden buckles stopped by her rug on spring morning when she was well into the fifteenth year of her life.

Lotte looked up at the man in a scarlet suite with velvet lapels and a cream-coloured cravat. He tilted his hat at her, brown eyes twinkling.

She was about to jump to her feet, but was stopped when he crouched down.

"Mr. Henri..." Despite not wishing to, she felt a surge of excitement at seeing him again.

"It's good to see you..." He was, typical to him, looking at her works on display. He picked up a delicate floral design. A small drawing in a simple frame. It was an enchantment that made a pleasant smell in the room where it would be hung. The smell depended on each person's preference.

"Why're you here?" she asked.

"How much for this?"

"For you? Two daies," Lotte answered. Normally, she sold those for half a daie since they were only ten minutes of work and the small frames came cheap.

"My scouts mentioned you," Mr. Henri said. "Not worth my inspection, they said."

"They weren't wrong."

Mr. Henri shook his head. "They were very wrong. Even if you drew with your eyes closed, your works have more charm than all the artists I've known put together. It doesn't have to be complex or sophisticated to sing to the soul."

"That's only how you feel, Mr. Henri," Lotte said.

He looked up from the drawings and into her face. "You're angry, aren't you?"

It was the first time Mr. Henri had ever inquired after her emotions. "I'm not sure," she said. She busied herself by opening a paper bag and stuffing the drawing Mr. Henri bought into it, taping it shut with a sticker of a kitten.

"Honestly speaking, I didn't want to intrude on your life anymore," he said.

"To me it looked like moved on."

Mr. Henri heaved a sigh and suddenly, he was sitting next to her on the edge of her rug, but mostly, on the dirty pavement. "How could I move on when nothing compares to you?"