Private Tales Sighing Shadows by the Light of the Moons

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
The wooden drawers of the heavy desk creaked as they opened. Galen winced. Should he cast a muffling spell? Too late now.

The light from the moons above cast far too much light in through open window shutters. At least it meant Galen could see while he worked. Working. He supposed that was what he could call cat burgling the upper story of an Elbion mansion. Whoever lived here, they could afford it.

He found a jewelry box inside the desk and popped it open. He picked up a strand of pearls in one hand, shrouded mostly in fingerless gloves, and examined them.

“Hells. This could buy me a whole month’s tuition,” he muttered.

Ever since the debacle with that mercenary company, Galen had been on temporary hiatus from the College, trying to pay off the student loans his former master, Telemachus, saddled him with after vanishing. Well, not Telemachus, strictly speaking, but the Bank. And he needed the money by tomorrow morning or…

Galen swallowed, remembering the evil twinkle in the eyes of the Valkyr and Sons enforcer. Something about throwing him in the water to “talk” to Drakormir.

The mage shuddered.

No, thank you. He’d already done that once. Not that the Book of Wyrms aided him any when he’d fought that nasty band of mercenary monsters in the Kaliti sands. He was determined to never go back there.

Galen turned, shoving the pearls and the jewelry box into one of the many pockets of his high collared, rough sewn, black coat and casting his eyes about for another bit of plunder while he ran fingers through his unkempt, dark hair.

Hmm.

Ciana
 
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The tip of her quill stilled against the parchment, the soft scratching sound breaking off mid-word. For a moment, Ciana thought she had imagined it, the faint groan of wood somewhere deeper in the house, carried to her through the stillness of night.

Her crystalline eyes lifted from the candlelit page, glancing toward the open door of the little study she occupied. She drew a slow breath. Her small number of staff had all retired hours ago. Her father was far away in Vinra.

Carefully, she set aside her quill, her fingers trembling as she reached for the candlestick, more comfort than weapon. The heat of the flame licked at her skin, and for an instant the familiar burn stirred beneath it, the restless glow in her veins answering the light. She swallowed it down, and rose from her chair, night-robe whispering against the carpet as she stepped toward the door.

The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears. She edged into the hall, the flicker of her candle pushing back the dark, and her gaze fell on the spill of moonlight from a doorway down the corridor . A door that had been closed..

“...Hello?” Her voice, though soft, carried uneasily through the silence as she pushed the door open further. The sight of a man she did not know tore a gasp from her chest, her eyes blown wide and flame extinguished as she launched the candlestick directly at his head.
 
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Galen ducked.

The candlestick crashed into the wall behind him and he winced.

Hang on, had it been silver?

He should just jump out the window. Maybe a spell to make him light as a feather? Did he have any feathers on him? No. Maybe one of the pillows… Oh moons, too late now.

Galen’s racing thoughts reined in as he caught sight of his assailant. She stood in the hallway, illumined in the light of the moons streaming in through the open window, hair all white-silver and aglow, clad only in a night robe. Pale and gaunt she stood and those eyes reflected the moonlight.

The mage held his hands up in surrender. Nobody said anything about this being a haunted mansion. Except, no, she wasn’t a ghost.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Galen promised, one hand clutching an ivory comb and a bronze mirror.

Except, of course, that it was exactly what it looked like.
 
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Her hand pressed harder against her chest as though she could hold her thundering heart in place, each breath trembling past her lips. She stepped back into the threshold of the hall, unsure exactly what she thought she might do to defend herself or her home against an intruder..

And then his hands were up. A thief. Her brow knit as her crystalline eyes swept over him, taking in his ragged coat and the bulging pockets that told the truth he tried to deny.

“Unless you’ve mistaken my home as some sort of parlour…” her gaze dropped to the mirror and comb in his grip, her words little more than a whisper, shaken and breathless. “…then I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”

She cut a quick glance toward the dresser before looking back at him. The heat that always prickled beneath her skin began to stir, a warning ember she dared not let rise. Her stomach twisted as she realised what else might be gone.

“I…” her throat tightened, her voice breaking before she forced herself to go on. “…if you’re going to take that.." she gestured with a nod toward his coat.. "At least let me retrieve one thing. It… it’s worth far more to me than it will ever be to you.”

Her fragile tone wavered with fear and plea both and she swayed slightly where she stood, though her eyes did not move from his pockets.
 
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A quiet, nervous chuckle left the mage's lips and he took a step backward, toward the open window. She was not calling for guards or servants, or screaming, or doing really anything that he would have expected in this moment. Of course, this was his first burglary of a mansion, but once upon a time he had been making a living cutting purses here and there, when he was just a child.

"Hold on," he slowly set the mirror and comb down onto the desk, "Look, I don't normally do this. I didn't think anyone still lived here."

After Drakormir, the place had been deserted.

He should have worn a scarf or something over his features. Now she'd seen him, but she was pleading for something... staring right as his pockets too.

Sighing, Galen took out the jewelry box.

"Is this what you want back?"

He was pretty sure it would have been worth a lot to him too.
 
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Her tired eyes followed him, tracking his movements as he edged toward the window. At least he was retreating, not advancing, and some of the fear untwisted in her chest. Still, she reached out a trembling hand, the moonlight glinting off the sheen of sweat at her temple.

“No, I— you can keep everything else,” she said, her voice cracking as her breath came faster, fearing he'd run. “I just want one thing from the box. Please.”

She swallowed, fighting to keep her voice steady. “There’s a bracelet inside, a silver one with a small key charm and a broken catch.” Her eyes darted briefly to the jewellery box before returning to him.

Her fingers curled against her chest, trying to still the fever-heat burning there. Her free hand braced against the doorframe. “You can take the pearls, the emerald earrings, I don’t care. Just… please, leave me that.” she frowned.
 
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"Uh," eyes of cobalt looked from the sweat glistening on her forehead to the trembling hand she held out.

"Listen, lady. I- oh forget it," he shook his head and sighed, then just handed her the whole box. He had to be the worst burglar in history. He would add it to the list: worst mercenary, worst apprentice, worst student. What an incredible gift of mediocrity.

Up until he joined the college and studied under Telemachus he couldn't read either. He supposed the fact that he could now marked progress.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look awful," Galen took a step closer to her as he held the box out to her, "Are you alright?"
 
Ciana’s frown deepened, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as though she expected this to be some sort of trick. What sort of robbery was this? First a thief, now a concerned gentleman?

Her head tilted slightly at his remark, a small huff leaving her lips. “And you look like a terrible thief,” she replied curtly, prim as if she were pointing out a breach of etiquette rather than standing in the middle of a burglary.

But suddenly, she was too aware of the scene. Alone, in the dead of night, with a strange man standing far too close while she was clad only in her thin nightdress. Her heart lurched and a rush of heat bloomed in her cheeks, stark against her pale skin. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and took a hurried step back so quickly she stumbled and winced as her back hit the wall.

“I am fine,” she clipped the lie, though her shallow breaths betrayed her. Her gaze flicked anxiously toward the hallway, afraid one of the staff might appear. Her voice hushed. “And I am not in the habit of keeping company with strange men in my home without a chaperone, so if you please—” she drew herself up as much as her frail frame allowed, mustering as much confidence in her tone as she could “I bid you leave, sir. And without my trinket.”

Her chin lifted just slightly, as though that might restore some shred of dignity to the entire, absurd situation.
 
"Oh, there it is," Galen chuckled, "for a moment I thought I was in the wrong mansion, but you're a noble alright. Or least you talk like one."

Nevermind that she surely had every right to, seeing as how he was causing a ruckus and trying to rob her blind. The mage-turned-burglar scratched at the back of his head, his dark brown hair completely unkempt on account of no money to pay a barber with and his disinclination to do much about it himself.

"Figures. You're right though. I am a terrible thief. Keep your stuff, alright? I thought the place was empty."

Should have known better.

He was still holding the box out, but she'd wrapped her arms around herself and seemed suddenly very self-conscious. Fair, Galen supposed he would be trying to figure out how large of a fireball he could afford to cast at an intruder if he had been in her place.

"But you don't seem fine. And- look, are you going to take this back or not?" The mage smiled weakly, "But if you want to put on your chaperone first, I'm guessing you have one in that wardrobe?" He took a step back, away from her.
 
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Why was he still standing here talking to her?! Ciana blinked in thought, her panic rising as her arms tightened around herself. She could already picture the look on Seraphine's face if she found them like this , the rumors that would follow, and word would no doubt reach her father and any potential suitors she might survive long enough to meet one day. Gods, what would people think?

“So you did think you were in a noble house, or you thought it was empty? I am confused.” Her icy eyes narrowed slightly.

She studied him in the moonlight, his unkempt hair, rough coat, he was tired looking perhaps, but not cruel. The pale glow turned her own skin ghostly, but here in the darkness, she felt more herself, more steady despite how he must see her.

“I… what?” she blinked at his comment about the wardrobe, exasperation slipping into her voice. “A chaperone?Like an escort. A third party. It is not proper for an unmarried woman to be in the company of a man alone.” Her tone was quiet but clipped, the urgency in it unmistakable, as if she were scolding an unruly child.

Her eyes flicked to the box still held out to her, and her frown deepened. “Set it on the dresser there, please,” she said, keeping her distance. Surely he could not expect her to step closer to him to retrieve it.

“Thank you… for reconsidering,” she added after a beat, her voice softer though she still sounded like she was trying to remember her manners. This was not at all how she had imagined her first burglary would go. For a strange moment, she almost felt guilty letting him leave with nothing after all the trouble he had gone to.

But then came a faint click of a door opening downstairs.

Ciana froze, breath catching, as the flickering glow of a candle began to climb the staircase, warming the hallway with light. She blanched and quickly stepped back into the room, pulling the door shut behind her as silently as she could manage.

She turned back toward him, eyes wide, heart pounding. “Go!” she urged in a whisper, her hand gesturing sharply to the window. “Now, you must leave!”
 
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Oh right, that’s what those were called. And improper? Galen snorted. He’d grown up in a brothel, so he knew exactly what the unmarried, and more often the married too, got up to without a chaperon. But if he tried to explain that to this waif he was sure she would disintegrate or melt or blow away on the wind.

Then she was telling him to hurry and leave and all other thoughts galloped away. Galen stumbled backward - he too could hear the approaching footsteps - and with much soft cursing and a complete lack of grace, he leaped out the window.

Halfway through the act he started to wonder how he would land. No feathers so no light fall. But maybe…

Fingers flashing in a series of movements, Galen said a word in the old dragon tongue that meant something like “air” and a gust of wind blasted him up for a heartbeat before he slammed into the cobblestones.

Groaning, Galen rolled over and stared up at the moons. That had gone worse than expected, though in a completely different way. Then the mage looked down and saw he was still holding the jewelry box.

Oh no.

Oops.

The mage picked himself up and limped away.

Some time later, in the morning, a piece of paper shaped like bird fluttered into Ciana. The enhanced paper held some hastily scratched words.

Sorry about the jewelry. Forgot. Meet at the library? Elbion college. This afternoon.
-G
 
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Ciana’s blue eyes widened as he'd moved toward the window. “You cannot possibly—” she began, lifting her hand as if the gesture alone might halt him. But before the words could leave her mouth he was gone, leaping into the night air.

“Goodness!” The cry escaped her as she rushed forward, nightdress fluttering around her ankles. She leaned out of the window just in time to see him fall, and then, impossibly, a rush of air caught him, slowing his descent before he slammed into the ground below.

Her breath caught. He’s a mage…

She was still staring down at him as he was pulling himself to his feet, when the sound of the latch made her spin back around, quickly pulling the shutters closed.

“Miss Ana?” came Cynthia’s voice — faithful, dependable Cynthia, the steward of the house and keeper of Ciana’s every routine — as she stepped inside, a candle in hand and worry lining her face.

Ciana turned, heart hammering, but managed a bright enough smile. “Yes, fine. A.. bird got in.” She gestured vaguely toward the window. “I shooed it out.”

Cynthia’s eyes narrowed slightly but she said nothing, simply setting the candle down and ushering her toward bed.

But when Ciana looked back at the window one last time, her heart sank. He was gone, and her bracelet with him.



She lay in bed long after Cynthia had gone, staring at the faint light of dawn seeping through the curtains. The hollow ache in her chest grew heavier with every hour. The bracelet was gone, her mother’s bracelet, the little key she loved so much, the last piece of her that Ciana had left.

Her breath trembled as she turned onto her side, determined. She would find him, even if she had to scour every alleyway in Elbion to do so.

Just as exhaustion was finally beginning to pull her under, something brushed against her hand. She blinked, sitting up as the paper bird fluttered to rest on her pillow.

A smile, unbidden and too quick, curved her lips. The paper bird had flown to her on its own. It was magic, strange and wonderful and alive, and it warmed something in her chest. Elbion was so much different to home.

She was careful as she unfolded the note, as though the little bird might feel pain somehow. Her brow rose, and furrowed as she considered the messy script. He wanted to return what he'd taken...Of course, he could also be luring her somewhere quiet to finish what he’d started, to rob her properly and leave her for dead. Then again Ciana’s thoughts always veered toward the dramatic.

Still, he’d had the chance to hurt her already, and he hadn’t. He’d had the chance to keep the bracelet and he was offering to return it. She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt..

When the sun had risen fully, she gathered her courage, her heart hammering the entire time. Cynthia would never allow it, and so when she was sure she and the rest of her staff were otherwise occupied, Ciana slipped out of bed.

She dressed quickly, drawing up the hood of her enchanted cloak and pulling on the gloves that shielded her delicate hands from the worst of the sun’s rays. Even so, the moment she stepped outside she felt the sunlight like a weight on her bones, sapping her strength with every step.

By the time she reached the massive oak doors of the College library, her limbs felt heavy and her head pounded. Bracing herself against the heavy wood, she took a shuddering breath and pushed her way inside.
 
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He almost didn’t recognize her. Nestled between two stacks of tomes each as large as his chest and piled high, Galen peaked through his fortress of papyrus and vellum and peered down at those on the first floor from his desk at rhe second. He caught a glimpse of white-gold hair and ashen skin.

Almost missed it, seeing as how she was wearing a hood and a cloak and gloves and all. And the last time he’d seen her it had been dark and she’d been wearing, well, not nothing. But admittedly not exactly something either.

Holding aloft another his paper doves, he blew on it and it took flight, arcing high through the air and circling lazily before dancing just in front of Ciana and leading her back through rows of towering bookshelves and up the flight of stairs into the darkened alcove of the library’s high, far corner where Galen lurked like some foul menace. Couldn’t be helped, unfortunately. He didn’t want to deal with the chance that the bankers would spot him on the first floor.

“I see you got my note,” Galen said cheerfully, wearing an outfit that looked much the same as last night’s save for a new tunic.

Ciana
 
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Ciana’s head ached from the brightness filtering through the tall library windows. She needed to get back home soon, to rest, to hide, to simply sit in the darkness where she belonged during the day, but she could not leave without her mother’s bracelet.

She moved quietly between shelves, crystalline eyes scanning for the young man she’d seen last night. Her hood shadowed her face, and every now and then she had to stop and steady herself against the spines of the books.

Then came the flutter of wings.

A paper dove circled in front of her and her lips curved before she could help it. She liked birds. And magic. And this was both, and it was clever and beautiful and so very unexpected.

The little 'creature' guided her deeper into the stacks, the air growing cooler and dimmer with every step. Thank the gods. By the time she reached the stairs, she was grateful for the shadows even if the climb left her legs trembling.

At the top she halted, straightening as best she could before carrying on to find her thief. The figure that awaited her looked a great deal less like a prowling burglar and more like an unkempt scholar who’d taken up residence among the tomes. Seeing him properly in the half-light, the sharp angles of his face, the brown hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in some time, she found herself unexpectedly annoyed that she likely looked the worse for wear, despite being dressed in her best day cloak.

“Good afternoon,” she said pointedly, since he had skipped every form of polite address. Her voice was cool but not sharp, tired, more than anything.

“Yes. Your… note.” She extended a gloved hand, palm open, her blue gaze fixed on him like a churning sea. “I would very much appreciate it if you returned my trinket to me, and I can be on my way.”

Her brow arched beneath the edge of her hood, the picture of noble expectation, even if her stance was ever so slightly wobbly from the strain of sunlight and stairs.
 
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Well, she sounded exhausted. Not the way these students sounded, all book-tired from studying. More like gutter-tired, ready to lay down in the street and let the wagon wheels roll over her if it meant she got a few winks.

Of course, Galen was not sure how well he would sleep either if someone broke into his house in the middle of the night. Not well.

Despite the weary weight in her words and the somewhat clammy, sickly sheen of her forehead, Galen found himself transfixed by her eyes. So… pretty. Crystal blue and clear. Like ice water. That must be what water looked like in the far away tundra that he read about. He wondered if he should tell her she had iceberg eyes.

She seemed very cross. He didn’t think telling her her eyes looked like iceberg water would win him any favors here.

“Um, right. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” He gestured at an empty chair across from him, then fished in his pocket and pulled out the box. He set it on the table.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

He smiled toothlessly.

Ciana
 
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Ciana glanced at the chair he gestured toward, one gloved hand bracing against the nearest bookshelf as her legs wobbled beneath her. The offer far more tempting than she would ever admit aloud.

But then she remembered herself. Remembered who he was and why she was here in the first place.

She straightened her spine and ignored the way her knees ached at the effort.

Her gaze tracked his movements as he drew the box from his pocket, and she moved forward just far enough to take it from the table before retreating a pace as though distance itself might preserve propriety.

“Yes, well, thank you for your kind observation… I should be resting,” she said, her voice clipped, “but instead I am here — retrieving my things that you stole from me.

The rebuke landed softly, more tired than biting, though she still lifted her chin as if daring him to contradict her. “And I do not make a habit of fraternising with thieves, nor would it be proper.”

Her head tilted ever so slightly, studying him for a beat, curiosity breaking through her frostiness despite herself.

“You are… a very odd thief,” she said at last, checking the contents of the box. Her mother’s bracelet was still there. Relief loosened a knot in her chest..

Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a small purse of coins and tossed it to him with an almost prim sort of huff.

“A finder’s fee,” she said, as though the words themselves were a great concession.

It was ridiculous. He had stolen her belongings, but he hadn’t had to give them back. And for that, she was oddly grateful.

“I would appreciate it if you refrained from breaking into my home again. I would perhaps suggest honest work, instead.”

She dipped into the barest of curtsies, the sort that was polite without offering even a fraction more than courtesy required.

“Good afternoon, ser,” she said, and turned crisply to go, her cloak and skirts whispering against the floor as she made her way toward the stairs.
 
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“Wait,” Galen called out, standing and snatching up the coin purse.

Oh. It had quite a heft to it. He almost set it back down. Almost. But then Galen had never been the sharpest student or the brightest mage. He sighed. He would probably regret this.

The purse weighed in the palm of his hand as he offered it up to her.

“Take it back,” he said, somewhat gruffly - he was no charity case. Well, he might be, but he couldn’t stand to take her money when she looked at him like that, practically about to faint.

“Maybe I really am a terrible thief. But I thought the place was empty, alright?”

Clearly, some sort of ailment afflicted her.

“Here, just… just use it to treat whatever you have going on.”

He gestured up and down indicating all of her. Honestly, was she about to faint?

Ciana
 
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Ciana stopped at his words, the sudden turn making her vision tilt unpleasantly. She caught herself on the edge of a shelf and blinked against the dizziness before looking back at him, her brows knitting together.

Her lips twitched into what might have been an attempt at a smile, though it faltered almost immediately. She tried not to look at him with any pity, knowing well how easy it was to dent a man’s pride.

“Yes, so you said,” she murmured, her tone still prim despite her clear fatigue. “So you were rummaging for scraps in a home you believed to be empty.”

Her gaze flicked to the purse he held and then back to his face, her glassy eyes faintly luminous in the shadowed alcove. “Perhaps it will keep you out of trouble for a little while… or set you on a better path. You clearly have some degree of honesty and chivalry about you, despite all of this.”

She nodded slightly toward the purse “Just… take it. There is no cure for what ails me, and I have coin enough.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she closed her eyes briefly as pain throbbed behind them, squinting against the sensation.

“Perhaps I… should sit. If only for a short while, until I gather my strength,” she admitted, as though the words themselves cost her pride.

With great reluctance, she crossed back to the chair he had offered and lowered herself onto it, the motion careful and precise despite the faint tremor in her limbs.

The dimness of the alcove was a balm, easing just enough of the oppressive weight on her shoulders for her to breathe again.

“You’re a mage…” she said at last, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful than accusing.

“I… your notes were quite extraordinary.” A breath of amusement escaped her, a soft, wry huff that almost passed for a laugh. “Though, you have remarkably poor handwriting.”
 
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A horrific spasm assaulted her features and he thought she might be in a throe of what they called a seizure, until realization struck. My gods. The poor lady tried to smile at him.

Galen offered up a spindly smile in return, though that disappeared as she started talking about putting him on the better path and with a grunt he shoved the coin purse into his pocket. Like she would know about his problems. He’d like to see her deal with loan sharks and mercenary contracts for her remains.

A cobalt stare studied her for a moment as she sat down, then he joined her.

The place smelled like it usually did, musty books and old wood. Galen supposed it was better than the raw sewage odor of the street. No… that was too harsh. He did enjoy it here. He just.. wait did she just insult his handwriting? Galen’s brows knit together.

“Yeah. You and my professors would agree. And my classmates. What kind of mage can’t write,” this time his smile was a weathered thing, “Me. And until a few summers ago I couldn’t read either.”

He scratched at the back of his head and shrugged dismissively.

“I guess I’d rather use parchment in those other ways… Hey, should you even be up and around right now? I know it’s my fault, coming here, but what have you got? The Savannah Pox is going around this time of year, I hear.”

Ciana
 
Ciana’s brows drew together, a faint crease forming as though she’d only just realised her words had stung him. Her lips parted, and for a brief moment she looked every bit the chastened pupil before a tutor’s desk.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, the words carrying a sincerity that was quiet but unshakable. “You write just fine. I only meant—my Magister used to rap my knuckles with a rod if my scripture wasn’t utterly perfect. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Your note accomplished its intended purpose, and it was very lovely. I've never seen magic like that before.” she added, her voice quiet as though she feared someone might overhear.

At the mention of pox, her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly.

Goodness, no. Nothing like that,” she assured him, lifting a gloved hand slightly as though to ward off the very thought. “I promise you, it is not contagious.”

She hesitated, then drew back the hood of her cloak, her pale hair spilling free in the dim light. The shadows clung to her features, but her face was still wan, her cheeks hollowed with exhaustion.

“I have an… aversion to sunlight,” she admitted at last, her tone quiet but matter-of-fact, as if it were merely a strange inconvenience she had long grown used to.

“I usually feel better at night,” her gaze lowered slightly, lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks, “though you caught me after travelling, yesterday. I had hoped to find help here, but the professor who agreed to see me has taken leave.”

She exhaled a breath, slow and measured, but her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her cloak. “I do not know quite what I shall do now.”
 
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Odd. He expected her to keep up the noble act. You know, ordering him around, backhanded insults about his status, references to things he’d never once had in life like a maid or a coatman. Only she did not, not really. She seemed sorry, which was funny in itself. Hadn’t he been the one who burgled her?

Sitting across from her, Galen slid aside a pile of books so they could see each other better, then put his elbows on the table and stretched out his feet under it.

She lowered her hood and Galen stared, captivated. Strands of spun moonlight. No, no. Tresses of wrought white-gold from Belgrath. Probably for the best she looked like a plague victim right now. Galen wouldn’t trust himself to keep a coherent conversation otherwise.

“Aversion to sunlight,” he repeated, scratching his hair. “Huh.”

That did not sound like a pox. No, sounded more like a curse. She mentioned scripture earlier. Oh she wasn’t some cult fanatic was she? Cursed by her god for being more beautiful or something? Gods tended to do that.

“Well…” oh he should stop while he was ahead, “I may not be at the level of one of the professors, but I am not exactly a slouch. I can do more than notes.”

He waggled his fingers at her, then twisted them in a fashion.

The darkness all around them grew darker still, until nothing remained outside of their little table but shadows - a trick he used on those mercenaries back in Amol-Kalit.

“You didn’t happen to tell any vindictive gods you were fairer than them, did you? Your affliction sounds like a magical curse.”

Curses had many varieties and levels. A deity-curse would be extremely difficult to undo.

Ciana
 
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Her head tilted as she watched him, a faint crease forming between her brows. It wasn’t often that people spoke of magic so openly, at least, not where she was from, and certainly not while idly playing with it across a library table. Yet she found herself leaning forward, fascinated, wondering what else he could do. She wanted to ask, to see more, but politeness stopped her tongue. Where she had been raised, one did not ask such things.

Then his fingers moved again and her thoughts scattered.

The light dimmed, not unnaturally, not in a way that frightened her, but as though the rest of the world had been gently shut out. Her mouth parted as she glanced around them, heart quickening as the ever-present ache in her skull eased, as though someone had carefully plucked it from her mind. She felt lighter. Clearer.

Her crystalline eyes glistened as she looked back at him, the faintest breath of wonder catching in her throat.

“I… Thank you,” she said softly, sincerely, her lips breaking into a smile that lit her pallid face with something almost luminous. “I’ve never seen.. I mean, it’s quite wonderful.”

The compliment that followed might have earned him a sharp look on another day, but she was too enthralled to scold him. Instead, a breath of laughter slipped from her, and she waved it off with a small shake of her head.

“Hardly,” she murmured, dismissive of his words even as colour threatened to warm her cheeks.

Her shoulders lifted and fell with a faint shrug, and she leaned back in her chair, a little more at ease than she had been moments ago.

“It’s not a curse,” she said gently. “I’ve been very sick for many years. The same sickness took my mother when I was a child. My father hired healers from every corner of the world, but none of them could tell us what it was.” Her fingers idly brushed against the edge of a book, her voice quiet.

“Until a few months ago, when a Professor arrived. He said it wasn’t an illness at all, but a magical affliction. That it’s been killing me slowly because I’ve never learned to use it.” Her lips twisted in something caught between wryness and regret. “Magic wasn’t something that was spoken of in my home. So… I was sent here.” she shrugged.
 
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“Hm. Innate magic. So you’re some sort of sorceress, you just haven’t learned how to use it proper yet.”

Galen nodded and mirrored her, leaning back in his chair, hands folding behind the back of his head in thought. He stretched out his feet and accidentally bumped something. Oh. Her feet.

The mage sat up and smiled weakly, “Oops, sorry.”

She did seem to perk up without the light streaming in through the windows. He wondered…

“You know, I was just learning about absorbent gemstones. Sometimes we use them to store ambient magic for later use. But try to store up too much and they break, sometimes spectacularly. I wonder if your body is acting like a gemstone right now. Absorbing all the sunlight… and you just don’t know how to release it yet.”

He scratched his chin. Hate to admit it, but this was a touch more interesting than burglary.

“Can you do any magic? Let’s see it.”

Ciana
 
Ciana scoffed, the sound escaping before she could stop it, and she immediately pressed her fingertips against her lips as though she might be punished for the lapse.

“Gracious,” she breathed, shaking her head with a quiet chuckle, “sorceress, me? No. That sounds… powerful. I highly doubt I have such talents as to claim I am a sorceress.”

She whispered the word as though speaking it too loudly might summon some ancient mage to strike her down for the audacity of his comparison.

What he said about gemstones, however, made her tilt her head, her eyes narrowing with thought. The notion felt almost thrilling, dangerous, even. Everything about this conversation felt dangerous. Forbidden. She had never been the scandalous sort, but here she was: sitting in an alcove with a strange young man, no chaperon in sight, discussing magic of all things.

“It does sound that way,” she admitted softly, her fingers toying with the hem of her cloak. “The professor said as much, though he likened me to a vessel — 'a delicate glass bottle filling too quickly, fine fractures forming beneath the strain until it shatters completely.' he said..” Her brow furrowed, her voice growing quieter, thoughts of her mother crossing her mind.. If only someone had understood what her illness had been all along..

“I wonder if such gemstones might hold some of mine. Like… a conduit of sorts. Perhaps it would make me feel better.”

Her brows lifted when he asked to see what she could do, and she recoiled slightly into her chair as though he had just suggested something quite indecent.

“No, I—well, there was the time I…” she frowned, stumbling over the memory of fire and screaming and the Baron's son's scalded face. “But that wasn’t… I don’t think I can do anything.”

Her chin tilted stubbornly, as though to insist the point. “I just need someone to… remove it. Then I can go home.” Her voice softened, the last words sounding almost wistful. “I’m not like you. Or anyone else here. I’m simply… ordinary. And this doesn't seem the place for ordinary people."
 
“Ordinary?” Galen chuckled. “You’re already some type of noble so that’s out of the question. Besides, if you were really ordinary you wouldn’t have a sunlight allergy.”

He leaned forward again, elbows on the table, head conspiratorially low.

“You’ve done magic then, without even meaning to?” A hint of jealousy crept into him, who had not been born with some great legacy of blood or a pseudo curse that gave him absurd abilities. “The tomes say innate powers can be hard to control, wild even. Maybe a gemstone really could help you…”

Fishing around in one of his coat pockets, Galen produced a sapphire. He stared at it, then almost reluctantly placed it on the table in front of them. He needed that for rent.

“See if you can feel anything when you pick it up.”