Weave of Silver [ONC III | Fantasy/HistFic | Complete]

Chapter 1: Visitor of Silver

"I'm going to insert the memory now, Miss Weatherstock. Please ensure you stay nice and relaxed, otherwise it won't implement properly into your mind."

The elegant lady dropped her shoulders back with a sigh. Her cream muslin dress was long-sleeved, ending at fragile, tiny wrists, the hands covered with matching gloves. Her carefully styled ringlets resting stiffly against her forehead. Long eyelashes fluttered shut beneath darkened eyebrows and oiled eyelids. An expectant smile curved on pale pink lips. She and Meera's ages differences were probably only two or three years, but their lives were worlds apart.

Meera eased out a sigh and rolled her sleeves up. She dripped three drops of the medium across Miss Weatherstock's smooth forehead. The clear oil stayed static on the surface, reflecting the oil lamp light inside the shop. The scent of lavender permeated the slightly humid room; Aurelius Mackleberry always insisted on using the oil to induce a sense of relaxation prior to transferring memories to ensure a smooth process.

Screwing the lid back onto the bottle of medium, Meera set it back on top of the shelf and reached for the tiny glass vial of orange liquid. The label, written in tiny, scratchy ink, read 'Drawing, in the style of Jakob Bogdani'. Dipping a long, wooden brush in, Meera waited until the liquid memory seeped throughout the marten hairs of the brush before withdrawing and painting upon Miss Weatherstock's forehead. On contact with the liquid memory, the clear medium solidified into a shining silver. Miss Weatherstock sucked in a tiny breath at the cold touch but remained still.

Meera followed the pattern Aurelius Mackleberry had drilled into her head many a time and demanded she perform for him twice that many times until she could do it in her sleep: confident, steady swirls that covered the temples more times than the front, easing across the hairline and the painted eyebrows. Meera had resented his obsessive-compulsiveness over perfection, but now she could transfer without hesitation. She could probably also extract memories too, having seen Mackleberry perform it on a weekly basis, but he had never permitted her to even ask to try.

She then withdrew the brush, leaving a shimmering silvery sheen on the skin to allow the memory to seep in. Meera had only ever received one transfer herself; it was a peculiar but not painful experience. She found the creating and extracting aspect more interesting than buying the finished product.

"You may open your eyes now, Miss," Meera said after several minutes.

Miss Weatherstock's eyelids fluttered open. Meera helped her up with a firm hand; a few clients had had the propensity for fainting spells after a memory transfer and she didn't want to have to call a doctor when she was the only one running the shop. Miss Weatherstock's cheeks went fleetingly pale beneath the blush but luckily returned to normal within seconds.

"Thank you, my dear," she said primly, every part the upper-class lady. "Is it complete? I--I don't feel any different. Should I...?"

"I transferred a memory for the experience in drawing, not a personality change," said Meera drily. Miss Weatherstock's lips pressed together at Meera's comment. "Here."

Meera passed the client a pencil and some parchment. Giving Meera a doubtful look, Miss Weatherstock pulled off her glove and began to sketch. Her hand flew over the page. Meera placed the empty vial in the washing bucket for cleaning and tidied up. By the time she returned to the examination table, an intricate sketch of a raven had formed before Miss Weatherstock, its black beady eyes gazing with judgement at Meera.

"I... I cannot believe it!" Miss Weatherstock exclaimed, her haughtiness all gone. "This morning my drawing was barely recognisable, but now... I am an artist!"

"You are welcome," Meera said, deadpan.

"Thank you!" The client's words were genuine the second time around. "It... it would not be obvious how I acquired it, would it?"