Arc One: Awakening

Chapter 38: Prosperity

A comfortable chatter, not dissimilar to the informal conference of councillors in Mora, sailed about the hexagonal stateroom, swarming the elevated interior terraces and the pearlescent ornamental thrones sojourned atop. Imposing and lustrous, Bartholomew's family stood as testaments of time, honed and perfected by the tick of the clock. Many tipped their heads in greeting, unbothered by the Solgardian in their midst, others far too engrossed by their sparkling beverages and pleasing conversation.

"Do not believe their feigned indifference," Marcia said, pinching in the cuffs of her lace gloves. The coronet in her loose curls breathed gracious glints of magic as she strode within the congregation of relatives, distant and close alike. "Almost three centuries have passed since they last encountered a mage, but they do not wish to be the first to approach. They fear their interest may be perceived as desperation."

"Sounds like the council back home," Lilith commented. "Stars forbid an emotion ever crossed their faces."

"You are well acquainted with polite company."

"If that's what you want to call it. Personally, I find it rather dull."

"Then that makes two of us. As a child, I always wondered where their spirit and curiosity was."

"Where their stories were hiding?"

Marcia's rosy regard sloped to the mage as her vigilance roamed the hall, deliberately determining where she cast her contemplation. Her observation traversed aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, deciphering each flawless face. "Here," she offered, "you must take a look at our state windows. Each of us has one. This is mine."

In a field of frosted snow and iridescent sun, Marcia's glass likeness shone, a sprouting scarlet flower in her left hand and a veneered dagger in the right. Tresses of curls wound to her knees and the lilt of a smile beamed to every onlooker in the room.

"Love can both hurt and delight," Marcia explained, "and we accept the warm with the cold. Engaged in that glorious feeling, darkness may still invade. We must retain our fortitude through it all. Appreciate good and bad with equivalent approach. That is where the true balance of emotion lies." A reverence endured in Lilith, collecting in the air between the glass visage and the spectator. "I sense I do not need to define such things to you."

"We all have people we love who we don't want to lose," Lilith replied, admiring the refined contour of the petals and the biting edge of the dagger. "It's not always in our power to stop the worst from happening. But we walk ever on. Through hail, and storm, and high wind until we see the sun again."

Marcia recognised the old mage proverb, touched to discover that their song of inner spirit survived the ages of uncertainty and turmoil, boosting the morale of those who called that enchanting world home.

Snared by her own emotion and snagging the sinking in her gut, Lilith drew from the window and moved to the next. The lean figure stood within a black pane, shrouded by constant night. Unlike the other glass depictions who faced the party as though to judge the worthy and the undeserving, this man remained lifeless, eyes sealed and head angled to the side like a pendulum.

"Who is this?" she questioned. Marcia's joy floated from her, taken by wind only she felt, and she almost regretted asking.

"That is my twin brother, Marcus. His window was replaced when he passed at the end of the war."

The glassmaker presented the fallen Prosperian in such a peaceful manner that Lilith didn't dare gawk for too long for fear of disturbing his eternal rest. Yet she struggled to deter her gaze. The isolated countenance called to her, and she refrained from reaching up to press her palm to the pane. "Are you gods?" she inquired. "The way Bartholomew speaks, it's like you are."