“We're each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?” -Ursula K. LeGuin
Four months. Rhys opened his eyes as the early light of dawn crept through the small window at the top of his chamber. Had it truly been four months? He sat up, looking himself over, searching for some noticeable transformation. But little had changed. In his time since his return to Elbion he had discovered that freedom was merely the power to define one’s own cages. The view differed little, and the fear was ever-present.
He reached for his cane and stood with only a little difficulty. The one-room chamber he rented was ill-kept and littered with clothes in varying degrees of cleanliness. A pile of journals lay on the floor, once written in daily, now gathering dust. As was his habit, he dressed and left early, when as few people as possible would be in the halls.
Rhys had never avoided people Before, and he was conscious of this shift in his behavior. But his peers carried expectations he feared he could no longer meet, and he was not strong enough to bear the strain of constant disappointment. His former colleagues knew that Rhys’s poor mobility was the price for his magic, and they muttered disapprovingly as he walked by with hardly any reliance on his cane. After all, why board at the most prestigious magical college in the realm and not use magic? Rhys could hardly disagree with them...
Except for the books.
It was the college’s vast library that drew him. Books were his Trap; his weakness. He spent day after day, hour upon hour reading, his well-honed skills growing stagnant without purpose. And yet it was a place where he belonged. By now he knew the stacks better than many of the librarians, and they welcomed his knowledge with open arms. He brought in his tea and breakfast each morning; strictly forbidden, yet the last student who had called him out for this behavior had received detention for raising his voice in the library. Rhys’s daily studies were interrupted by requests to locate texts, authors of half-remembered passages, or references for research projects. He recognized that these interactions were to his benefit, and complied with them amiably. And though he cast his eyes downward and spoke but little and softly, with each request he held a small hope that someone would ask him for something other than a book, extending a hand in the darkness.
Kara Orin
Four months. Rhys opened his eyes as the early light of dawn crept through the small window at the top of his chamber. Had it truly been four months? He sat up, looking himself over, searching for some noticeable transformation. But little had changed. In his time since his return to Elbion he had discovered that freedom was merely the power to define one’s own cages. The view differed little, and the fear was ever-present.
He reached for his cane and stood with only a little difficulty. The one-room chamber he rented was ill-kept and littered with clothes in varying degrees of cleanliness. A pile of journals lay on the floor, once written in daily, now gathering dust. As was his habit, he dressed and left early, when as few people as possible would be in the halls.
Rhys had never avoided people Before, and he was conscious of this shift in his behavior. But his peers carried expectations he feared he could no longer meet, and he was not strong enough to bear the strain of constant disappointment. His former colleagues knew that Rhys’s poor mobility was the price for his magic, and they muttered disapprovingly as he walked by with hardly any reliance on his cane. After all, why board at the most prestigious magical college in the realm and not use magic? Rhys could hardly disagree with them...
Except for the books.
It was the college’s vast library that drew him. Books were his Trap; his weakness. He spent day after day, hour upon hour reading, his well-honed skills growing stagnant without purpose. And yet it was a place where he belonged. By now he knew the stacks better than many of the librarians, and they welcomed his knowledge with open arms. He brought in his tea and breakfast each morning; strictly forbidden, yet the last student who had called him out for this behavior had received detention for raising his voice in the library. Rhys’s daily studies were interrupted by requests to locate texts, authors of half-remembered passages, or references for research projects. He recognized that these interactions were to his benefit, and complied with them amiably. And though he cast his eyes downward and spoke but little and softly, with each request he held a small hope that someone would ask him for something other than a book, extending a hand in the darkness.
Kara Orin
