CHILD OF ALVADAS
Aislyn was following the man for quite a while. In truth, her stubbornness spoke loudly for her dedication to the cause; taking left after left and right after right. Into an alley and out, as if the man had any idea where he was going. Tall houses and short, coloured and bland. Street after street of Alvad wonder, drifting off evermore. There was nothing new in the architecture of the places, yet somehow there never failed to be someone gawking at it on the street. That was the effect Alvadas had on people; even the most studious of figures; even those who thought themselves so high above others on a metaphysical level, were completely and utterly baffled the moment they saw something outside of their written norm.
‘Normal’ was such an ugly word. A fool’s word, one that could almost be written off as offensive in the vast abnormalcy that was the city of illusions. To compare Alvadas to anywhere else was impossible, to compare anywhere else to Alvadas just as much so. Aislyn had never stepped foot inside the threshold of another city, but she had heard plenty. Little ears on the street heard plenty of things, and none of them enough to draw more than a slight interest. Learning was easy. Caring was not.
In truth, Aislyn hadn’t cared all that much at all for a while. After all, the things she had cared about prior to that day, that bell, that chime, even, could be numbered on one hand. Markis, Taji, her mother, occasionally, and Alvadas. But she could cross at least one of those things off the list. He was gone now, and she was different now. Aislyn had changed. For better or worse, things would never be the same. She’d lost a lot, but now she had plenty of things. Like chicken man, and the thought of how proud Taji was going to be of what she’d done. What she could do.
Oh, this was all just so exciting!
Every once in awhile, as she followed the men across what seemed like the entirety of Alvadas, there would be talking, mostly amongst themselves. Chicken man seemed to be the talkative one, though there was only the occasional response from the much angrier, older man. The rest of the time, however, was spent in silence. Although ‘silence’ was an extremely incorrectly positioned word to describe Alvadas. Everywhere on the street, off it, and above it was laughing and shouting and people, which, though wonderful to observe, Aislyn would have much rather observed from a distance. But she couldn’t risk losing the man, so it wasn’t like she had much choice but to follow his path. She was naturally tiny, and that most definitely was an advantage that came in handy when weaving through crowds clutching a chicken as tightly as she could without killing the thing. The girl had grown quite fond of ‘Harold’, actually. Maybe she’d keep him, when all this was said and done.
It certainly was a thought.
Eventually, the crowds dispersed, and Aislyn was stuck staring up at a building that had far too many floors, by Alvadas standards. At that point, she hung back, idly petting her fowl friend as she tried to decipher whatever it was the pair of strangers were doing. A key, a door, a squeak and suddenly, they were gone. Immediately once they were out of sight, all caution was thrown to the wind, Aislyn creeping up to the entryway just behind them. The door, of course, had already shut, but that was no problem. She’d just wait a bit for them to be far enough in the house to not hear the door, and then she’d go in after them. No problem.
Unless, of course, the door was locked.
Curious, now, Aislyn gave the handle just the slightest of turns. Sure enough, no movement was incurred. Whether locked immediately or of the two men’s will, the door was most definitely not opening for anything other than a key.
That messed up the plan quite a bit.
Looking around for any other source of entry, the young illusionist’s eyes eventually fell upon an alley, of which by definition had not the friendliest of appearances. It was absurdly dark, considering the amount of light still left in the day, though whether that was illusory or merely coincidental was a different matter. Either way, it was a lead, and she hadn’t come this far just to be deterred by a stupid locked door. She was getting in the building, one way or another. It was just a matter of how.
On the side of the house, Aislyn was met with just as much darkness as she had expected; which was, of course, quite a lot. Staring down into it, the girl couldn’t help but feel just the slightest pang of worry. Of course, there wouldn’t be anything there. But there could be. And that was the thing- the difference between could and would was little more than a letter, but that letter represented a chance. And a chance was all fate needed to be enticed into ruining everything.
Nonetheless, Aislyn repeated her earlier statement to herself, as if to convince her mind there was nothing to fear. She hadn’t come this far to be deterred by a door, nor a lock, nor an alleyway filled with black. Anyways, she’d never had a problem with low light situations visually. The setting didn’t matter. She wasn’t afraid of the dark.
Palming her way across the wall of the building, Aislyn eventually came across a window, the glass clouded by the smoke and grain of age. Setting Harold on the ground, Aislyn put her finger to her lips as if the chicken would understand the need to be quiet. If the bird could turn blue out seemingly out of its own will after seeing her do as much, surely it could be as quiet as she was trying to be. Trying, of course being the objective word. Nothing in the alleyway had been touched for years, from the look of it, and the disuse showed. She wasn’t even inside yet, and even still the framework of the window was creaking under the pressure of nimble fingertips attempting to pry it open. But eventually it gave, the window popping upwards with a celebratory cloud of dust. Smothering a cough, Aislyn plucked Harold up from the ground once more, climbing in the window, chicken in arms.
Inside, the most prominent feature of the house was how cold it was. For a stuffy, old house is desperate disrepair, it either had remarkable insulation or was sitting upon a localized bed of ice. Either way, it was freezing, and the girl resisted the urge to put up her hood once again. She didn’t need anymore hindrances. Besides, if she could see decently in the dark, she had an advantage over chicken man, and there was no need to waste an advantage. Not for now, at least.
Maneuvering across the rather talkative floorboards of the house, Aislyn grew curiouser by the tick. Sure, at first, it had just been about spite, but now there was a story involved, and who could resist a good story?
Not Aislyn, that was for sure.
Now all that was left was to figure out where her chicken man storyteller had gone.
‘Normal’ was such an ugly word. A fool’s word, one that could almost be written off as offensive in the vast abnormalcy that was the city of illusions. To compare Alvadas to anywhere else was impossible, to compare anywhere else to Alvadas just as much so. Aislyn had never stepped foot inside the threshold of another city, but she had heard plenty. Little ears on the street heard plenty of things, and none of them enough to draw more than a slight interest. Learning was easy. Caring was not.
In truth, Aislyn hadn’t cared all that much at all for a while. After all, the things she had cared about prior to that day, that bell, that chime, even, could be numbered on one hand. Markis, Taji, her mother, occasionally, and Alvadas. But she could cross at least one of those things off the list. He was gone now, and she was different now. Aislyn had changed. For better or worse, things would never be the same. She’d lost a lot, but now she had plenty of things. Like chicken man, and the thought of how proud Taji was going to be of what she’d done. What she could do.
Oh, this was all just so exciting!
Every once in awhile, as she followed the men across what seemed like the entirety of Alvadas, there would be talking, mostly amongst themselves. Chicken man seemed to be the talkative one, though there was only the occasional response from the much angrier, older man. The rest of the time, however, was spent in silence. Although ‘silence’ was an extremely incorrectly positioned word to describe Alvadas. Everywhere on the street, off it, and above it was laughing and shouting and people, which, though wonderful to observe, Aislyn would have much rather observed from a distance. But she couldn’t risk losing the man, so it wasn’t like she had much choice but to follow his path. She was naturally tiny, and that most definitely was an advantage that came in handy when weaving through crowds clutching a chicken as tightly as she could without killing the thing. The girl had grown quite fond of ‘Harold’, actually. Maybe she’d keep him, when all this was said and done.
It certainly was a thought.
Eventually, the crowds dispersed, and Aislyn was stuck staring up at a building that had far too many floors, by Alvadas standards. At that point, she hung back, idly petting her fowl friend as she tried to decipher whatever it was the pair of strangers were doing. A key, a door, a squeak and suddenly, they were gone. Immediately once they were out of sight, all caution was thrown to the wind, Aislyn creeping up to the entryway just behind them. The door, of course, had already shut, but that was no problem. She’d just wait a bit for them to be far enough in the house to not hear the door, and then she’d go in after them. No problem.
Unless, of course, the door was locked.
Curious, now, Aislyn gave the handle just the slightest of turns. Sure enough, no movement was incurred. Whether locked immediately or of the two men’s will, the door was most definitely not opening for anything other than a key.
That messed up the plan quite a bit.
Looking around for any other source of entry, the young illusionist’s eyes eventually fell upon an alley, of which by definition had not the friendliest of appearances. It was absurdly dark, considering the amount of light still left in the day, though whether that was illusory or merely coincidental was a different matter. Either way, it was a lead, and she hadn’t come this far just to be deterred by a stupid locked door. She was getting in the building, one way or another. It was just a matter of how.
On the side of the house, Aislyn was met with just as much darkness as she had expected; which was, of course, quite a lot. Staring down into it, the girl couldn’t help but feel just the slightest pang of worry. Of course, there wouldn’t be anything there. But there could be. And that was the thing- the difference between could and would was little more than a letter, but that letter represented a chance. And a chance was all fate needed to be enticed into ruining everything.
Nonetheless, Aislyn repeated her earlier statement to herself, as if to convince her mind there was nothing to fear. She hadn’t come this far to be deterred by a door, nor a lock, nor an alleyway filled with black. Anyways, she’d never had a problem with low light situations visually. The setting didn’t matter. She wasn’t afraid of the dark.
Palming her way across the wall of the building, Aislyn eventually came across a window, the glass clouded by the smoke and grain of age. Setting Harold on the ground, Aislyn put her finger to her lips as if the chicken would understand the need to be quiet. If the bird could turn blue out seemingly out of its own will after seeing her do as much, surely it could be as quiet as she was trying to be. Trying, of course being the objective word. Nothing in the alleyway had been touched for years, from the look of it, and the disuse showed. She wasn’t even inside yet, and even still the framework of the window was creaking under the pressure of nimble fingertips attempting to pry it open. But eventually it gave, the window popping upwards with a celebratory cloud of dust. Smothering a cough, Aislyn plucked Harold up from the ground once more, climbing in the window, chicken in arms.
Inside, the most prominent feature of the house was how cold it was. For a stuffy, old house is desperate disrepair, it either had remarkable insulation or was sitting upon a localized bed of ice. Either way, it was freezing, and the girl resisted the urge to put up her hood once again. She didn’t need anymore hindrances. Besides, if she could see decently in the dark, she had an advantage over chicken man, and there was no need to waste an advantage. Not for now, at least.
Maneuvering across the rather talkative floorboards of the house, Aislyn grew curiouser by the tick. Sure, at first, it had just been about spite, but now there was a story involved, and who could resist a good story?
Not Aislyn, that was for sure.
Now all that was left was to figure out where her chicken man storyteller had gone.
little secrets grow up to be big lies
