Shattered Line

Chapter 14: An Unforgettable Past

Sleep plagued her eyes. They burned and threatened closure to dispel her fatigue. Soon, Isla would sleep. A meager reprieve to douse the weight an all-night wrought. Sure, she threw the gauntlet, but exhaustion would hinder her far more.

Her hand trailed the slick railing as she descended from the third floor. She scoured the ground, observing the scurrying scholars and occasional librarian arranging the books. At first glance, this extravagant venue had been over glamorous. But with time, the quirks Fin Ardin provided to its magic researchers proved substantial. The automatic adjustable lighting for lazy eyes, private silent oasis', and comfortable seating created a wonderland for thought. Magic existed within each fine detail.

Isla followed the alpine characterized pathway back to her sleeping quarters. The open ceiling granted light access to refract off floating snowflakes, draping the hallway in elegant silver glitter. A brisk gale wrapped around the trespassers, warning them of the fifth library's intensity. Yet, given the trivial threat, many remained, crowding the narrow passage.

She squeezed through robed throngs, the rich cerulean fabric discerning their status as experts. Still, they chose a foolish time to restrict the passage with useless chatter. Sighing, she traversed the inner courtyard that divided the hallways. Air poured through the crosshatched skyline alongside beams of light. Blue spruce trees glowed brightly at their bristled ends surrounded by pruned grass to match. The miniature woodland framed two polished steel-lined benches with artistic swirls and flowers.

Heading into the adjacent hallway, she halted mid-step as a beautiful and mesmerizing voice called from behind. "Isla?"

Who would know her name in Arcadia? A coincidence, or misunderstanding: which was it?

Isla turned, staring at the source of her hesitation. A young woman, mid-twenties with long translucent blonde hair matched by vibrant blue eyes. Her high cheekbones and long lashes captured a mysterious beauty. Even her stride held grace and elegance befitting a bona fide goddess.

However, the woman's existence neither overshadowed nor undermined her companions. One a familiar replica of the first with shorter and straighter hair; the other was a woman past her prime, but she exchanged raw perfection for wisdom. The elder with her platinum blonde hair and vagrant wrinkles around the mouth. Her stern mask was magnified by the classic paper fan unfurled near her face.

The three women wore garbs of fine white silk and pearls. Though gaudy to the naked eye, these women exemplified the clothing's perfect model. The fabric clung to their curves, swaying naturally with skilled and controlled steps.

"What?" Isla said, cloaking her ambition to growl like an infuriated beast. They had arrogance and narcissism written with transparent ease from head to toe. Or was there an underlying urge to mangle them even she couldn't fathom?

"Isla," the first woman called again, "it truly is you." She beamed, flaunting an impeccable set of white teeth.

Isla concealed the disturbance their presence incited. Who were they? A thorn pinched her side, gouging as the thread holding their fates unraveled. The answer dawned on Isla. They were her flesh and blood sisters.

Layla—the oldest—stepped towards her with arms wide. The invitation ignited a harsh and bitter memory of their separation. How they abandoned her young and alone to the forest's clutches. Isla growled, low and feral as Layla neared. The noise startled her, halting her advance.

"Isla?" Layla pouted, her forehead dropping forward.

She pivoted, showing her back to them. Silence was what they deserved. Her feet carried her forward, her steps firm and determined. She focused on furnishing a powerful retreat, baring no chink in her defenses.