The Chosen and The Fae

Chapter Two: The Festival.

"Bong, bong, bong!" Went the tolling of the evening bell, and Alvera practically leaped out of the small chair, not even noticing as it fell to the floor, unbalanced by her violent upheaval.

She hurriedly smoothed her dress down over her skin and made sure her hair was still hanging straightly down her back and then she took a deep breath to calm herself, closing her eyes tightly.

Calm, serene and composed. She recited mentally, just as her nanny used to tell her before everything changed. The chant somewhat cooling her excited blood. When she opened her eyes she took another breath and then started out the door.

It wasn't far from her hut to the village, only about a five minute walk, and so when she arrived, almost the entirety of the village had gathered in the small patch of land that they used for such events. 

So many people, of all ages, laughing and dancing and being happy. Alvera felt her eyes grow and her breathing speed. She had dreamt of this day for so long. When her mother would be out of town for such a festival, that she might go and be merry, if only for a night. 

Resolutely, she picked up her skirts and weaved her way through the crowd to stand at the edge of what the villagers were using for a dance floor. 

She stood there breathless, watching with awed eyes as the children and adults alike swept across the space, a small band of people gathered at the front of the dancers, with a flute and fiddle and all manner of wondrous instruments. 

Once she had been standing there for a while, a hand touched her arm. She flinched away from it and spun, only to come face to face with a boy around her age, wide eyed and pink faced with an embarrassed blush. 

"Oh," He stammered out, the flush growing by the minute. "I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She gulped, heart still pounding, and then replied quietly. "No, it's not your fault. I apologize."

The blush lessened a bit as he grinned awkwardly and his hand crept behind his head to scratch his neck. "No, truly, it was my doing." He slowly extended his hand, as if not to scare her, and waited for her to shake it.

She blinked, only hesitating for a second before gripping his hand and lightly shaking it. His hands were gritty and warm.

He laughed as he released her hand. "I only meant to ask your name, miss. I don't think I've ever seen you around here?"

He didn't recognize her? She knew him, as he often came in the baker's shop, often times with his friends, who would laugh at Alvera and refuse to eat bread she had touched until she washed her hands. She frowned lightly.

"Um, my name?" She panicked, should she tell him who she was? Or should she simply take another name for the night, take another identity. A girl unburdened by Alvera's own past. "My name is...Viessa." She thought quickly, deciding on her grandmother's name.

The boy smiled brightly. "A pretty name, if I might say so, miss Viessa. My name is Hans, it's very nice to meet you."

She found herself smiling back, despite all the times that he had laughed at her, along with his friends. He had not laughed at Viessa, she knew no such thing. And so she let it slip from her mind.

It wasn't long after that that she was surrounded by dancing people, herself on the dance floor, the heat of Hans' hand on her waist and his other hand wrapped gently around her own as he swept her along to the flow of the music. The night was beginning to darken, but she didn't care, as the people of her village had many lanterns and torches to light it. Her stomach was warm and full, as Hans had dragged her to a laden table not soon after she met him, insisting that she seemed hungry, especially feeding her small berries that he insisted were simply scrumptious, though she found them to be too sweet.