Findings of the Culturvator
Chapter 2, Part III
Written by Aervara (MC)
Aer can't remember the last time she'd worn a dress.
There are no rules against skirts or dresses in her community, but only a fool would ignore the practicality of a sturdy pair of pants. They allow for freedom of movement in the workshop, on horseback, and really anywhere any Treefyre elf has any reason to be. Dresses belong to children playing make believe.
Which, Aer supposes, is what she's doing now-- pretending to be a mysterious, defenseless, Sylvan-speaking aristocrat in a low cut gown. But I actually am defenseless, she thinks, glowering. She stays close to Artemi, who she figures has smuggled in some blade or another. His role as her guard is barely a fiction.
If she weren't so angry, she'd appreciate the magical craftsmanship that must have gone into this courtyard, carved straight into a massive tree trunk. Instead, she repeatedly finds herself beginning to move her hands into position to reach for her magic. Each time, before her muscles find the poses she has spent her life mastering, her willpower skids off an invisible, slippery barrier. She wants to scream and tear at her absurd, flowing sleeves, if only to prove her hands are capable of something, even without magic.
A hubbub surrounds the entrance of two finely dressed aarakocra. Aer watches from the edge of the room, trying to look like she recognizes the pair, attempting to train her face to match any emotion besides agitation. She's pretty sure it's not going well, but no one is looking at her. A voice with the clarity of heirloom crystal has asked everyone to assemble for an announcement in the ballroom. Aer's heart slams in her chest as she looks around and realizes Artemi is gone. Dread shoots down her spine. She has never before felt her body's smallness so acutely.
As everyone else reaches the hall and files toward the ballroom as directed, Aer clings to the shadows as best she can. She sees movement off to the far left of her vision. Well, if somebody questions me, I'll pretend not to understand them, she thinks as she scurries off in the opposite direction from the crowd. She'd wager that anyone else ignoring instructions is likely a member of her team.
Aer sneaks (to the extent her full skirt and petticoats allow) toward the back of the building, coming upon an unguarded door. The knob has been knocked out of alignment and absolutely mangled, with thick gouges scored into the wood around the lock. There is only a moment to admire the incompetence before Aer hears voices coming around the gentle curve of the hall. A lurch of panic and she is throwing herself into an unlit nook under the stairs. She can hardly hear anything more over the rush of blood in her ears, but her eyes go wide as she sees Darwin being gently led by two guards. He looks inexplicably pleased with himself. Aer watches in nauseated silence as the three of them enter the mutilated door. Checking that the hall is empty once again, Aer slips out and catches the wood with her hand before it clicks closed again. Their footsteps thump down the stairs into darkness.