Pages and Faces

Plit…plit…plit…plitplitplit…

Noreene raised her head as the rain began to come down harder outside. With each splatter against the windows, the cool glass would let out a soft, reverberating ‘plit…plit.’

Inside was perfectly dry, cool, and somewhat musky. In one hand was a feather duster, and in the other a thin pair of spectacles. She waved the fluffy wand over each shelf with care, brushing a week’s worth of dirt, dead skin, and ash off the spines of her books. The floorboards gave the tiniest squeaks to her weight with each movement, and the sound of scratching claws could be heard. She had mice…she’d always had mice. This place was full of them, and she didn’t mind, for they mostly left her collections alone provided she leave out a bit of molding bread every few days or so. She wasn’t about to make them leave, as she figured they needed a home as well…and why not hers? They weren’t bothering anything or anyone, so it was fine. As she moved, she took care to avoid the cobwebs, they served a function as well. In their dark little corners they caught the moths that would otherwise eat her clothes and books. She could always clean up after them when they left anyhow. It was no trouble. In some ways, the library was itself, a dark corner, a shady nook. There were no candles or fires within the walls unless magical, and those cast dim blue light that made the place seem all the more dark.

It was the sort of place people conjured ghost stories about. That wasn’t to say it was falling down around her, lords no. It was a tall, towering building of dark, polished wood and grayish red shingling that seemed to bow inward halfway up. The windows were an translucent blue glass in simple rectangular frames. The doors, back and front were easily ten feet, double and heavy. For Noreene, it took all of her weight and strength to push the front door open to sweep the dirt out, so she only did it every other week. A small cellar was attached to the back of the house, but rarely opened, and so padlocked. Including it, there were four levels, three inside the house, and one beneath. The lowest was comprised of the parlor, kitchen, foyer, and conservatory, the last of which was rather small and often the brightest room in the house as the windows were fully transparent. In the middle was the library, which took up most of the second floor with its high and wide shelves, -the lanes between which were narrow- and the study. It was on the third floor that Noreene lived, in two small rooms, her bedchamber and boudoir.

All of this was situated in a small corner of Silverpine, away from the bustle of the Undercity, the war, and Gilneas. Really, that’s how she liked it.

She had just begun dusting the self-help section when the doorbell rang. So she set down the wand and made her way down the stairs with creaking and groaning that was half-house, half-joints. As she approached the door, she snapped her fingers once, and then pushed.

Standing there was a wet and understandably disgruntled long-eared woman in reddish robes and black gloves.

“Ah, miss Skydancer, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she hurriedly heaved open the door, allowing the elf to step in. As she did, she pulled down her hood.

“You can drop the illusion, Noreene. I didn’t bring anyone of consequence, and you know I enjoy seeing your lovely face.”

Of all the ways one could describe her, lovely wasn’t one of them. In life, Noreene had been an unremarkable woman, who’s face was an odd composite of features leading to a rather plain if not slightly awkward set of expressions. It was only the most ‘generous’ of men -and the most desperate- who had ever made a pass at her, and even then her heart was set not on the flesh, but the soul. Needless to say, she sent any and all suitors away without a second glance. She smiled, and as she did the spell peeled away as the flesh of her jaw tore and frayed, her yet-intact teeth visible between the preserved strands of flesh. Her lips were thin, and the upper was subtly more full than the lower. Her mouth was small, and led to the image of not having one at all when closed. The cartilege in her nose had since been dissolved and replaced with the finger bones of an infant. It was thin and upturned, and commonly dusted with powder though her flesh was deathly pale. Each eye became a small, drooping orb of unearthly light. Where some glowed yellow or blue, hers with a dusky violet. Her brows and hair, which had moments before been voluminous and rich in color, now faded and laid flat in subtle waves of faded red gold around her shoulders. Her forehead was domed, and her hairline was placed higher than what was common. She was by no means ‘lovely’ but she certainly enjoyed the elf’s well-meaning and acceptance, rather than revulsion, of her real face.

“I see that the violets have finally bloomed,” the robed woman mused off-handedly. Noreene clapped her hands together.

“Yes. The poor dears weren’t getting enough sunlight, and I believe I potted them in the incorrect soil mixture, but they seem to be doing alright now.”

“Why is it that you are here, Kotekeke? You don’t usually visit me without a purpose. I know you are quite busy in the court…” she transferred her glasses from one hand to the other. They had been talking for a few minutes now in the conservatory about the steadily growing collection of flora she was amassing. Her love for collecting and categorizing was beginning to take over the room, and the elf had just suggested that she look into pressing the best specimens between books. She gave the shorter, death-taken woman an apologetic smile.

“I’m looking for a book.”

“Alright then, to the library,” she replied cheerfully, and started back toward the foyer. Her guest didn’t move.

“A biography.”

Noreene paused, and looked over her shoulder. Smoothing down her dress, she wordlessly motioned for Kotekeke to follow. She climbed the staircase, and navigated the rows of bookshelves with her guest in tow, making her way toward the study. After pausing to set her glasses on her nose and pluck the keys from her pocket, she opened the door and strode in. Almost self-consciously, she began to rearrange and organize her worktable while the elf took a look around.

“You have a new display,” came the soft remark. Her eyes were on a small box mounted to the wall, containing an insect of diminutive size with its wings pinned to a brown card.

“Yes…the sparkfly from Sholozar. I brought it back with me about a month ago. Which book did you need, dear?”

“Tasagi Skydancer.” She inhaled an unnecessary breath.

“I do not believe I have a book by that name,” she said softly, and Kotekeke’s features hardened.

“Don’t lie to me, Noreene.”

“I do not deal in personal cases.”

“Yes you do, you had Airen’s mother.”

“That was an accident, and he paid me a large sum for it,” her hands began to shake, the air in the room tingling with magical charge. She didn’t want an argument here. Arguments led to conflict, conflict to violence, and Kotekeke was fond of fire magic. Her library…her house, would be incinerated. If she could just….a small spell wouldn’t hurt…Just…

Just to ease her down…

And just like that…the red-robed shoulders slowly lowered.

“I brought compensation, but I want Tasagi.”

“Oh? I must tell you, I’m quite reluctant to part with that one. I’ve learned quite a lot from it…such an interesting read.”

All of the wrong words were tumbling out of her mouth, and she was certain that when the sorceress next clenched her jaw that everything around them was bound for ashes. No, if necessary she could prevent the destruction. While she might not be particularly skilled in destructive methods, she could shield her home from the woman’s fury. Perhaps even…add her…

No, foolish thoughts. This was a friend, a dear dear friend.

Kotekeke dipped a hand into the satchel at her waist, and from it retrieved a black velvet jewelry box. She didn’t need to open it to know its contents, however.

“That doesn’t cover the cost.”

“It is special.”

“Why? Is it a demon? Or perhaps an eredar? There are few things special in this world, and you know that.” Her cynicism was deepening the elf’s frown, but still she offered the box in an open palm.

“I think it could be refreshing.” Reluctantly, she took it, immediately beginning to hear the whispers from within. They were different, softer; higher and pitch and with a certain incoherence. The glow of her eyes intensified, and her mouth parted as she glanced at her friend in silent question.

“Her name is Noreene Ellington, and she was seven months old when she was taken by illness. That was about eight years ago.”

“A…a child, no…Merely a babe…An infant…so young.” Kotekeke drew close, laying a satin-wrapped hand on her shoulder.

“She has your name…There will be no confusion. Think of it…your body and mind refreshed and renewed…She hadn’t yet begun to live.” Noreene’s mouth quivered briefly, then closed.

“Yes, yes of course. I’ll get…Tasagi for you.” As if electrified, she burst into action, her movements swift as she rushed to one of the bookcases and raised a hand, lifting a tome from one of the higher shelves with a spell. It landed softly in the elf’s hands, before she embraced the death-taken woman.

“Thank you. Thank you, Noreene.” The two made their way downstairs in relative silence, Kotekeke lovingly cradling her book and her friend entranced by the box in her hands, and its contents. As she pushed open the front door again, the sorceress pulled her hood over her head, and stepped back out into the rain. Yet she paused, and turned.

“Should I stay to help?” With a brief smile, Noreene shook her head.

“No, I’ve done this enough times, I’ll be fine.” As she pulled the door shut once more, with her thumb she flipped open the box, to peer at the violet gem within.