Cress rubbed her temples with the veracity of a masseuse working out a stubborn knot. Five of her scribes filled her once quaint room within the Governance Building. She had never seen so many pages and books strewn about the gaudy place. However, it wasn’t the scribes, the sounds of snapping books, or the rippling pages that made her head throb.

“A phoenix…” Cressida started; her voice quiet. “A literal bloody phoenix!” She continued, now booming.

Her words traveled over her fortress of stacked papers that lined her desk and into her scribes like arrows into an approaching army. The scribes halted, waiting for her to elaborate further. Realizing that was all she had to say, they returned to her work. Noticeably quieter than before. She had been ranting about that headache of a bird for hours now, so the scribes knew well not to stoke her flames.

Cress closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

The scribes didn’t summon the damn bird, Cress. She told herself. No need to let your anger out on them.

She had recently stumbled on a book that mentioned a concept called “meditation.” According to the book, it was said to have a relaxing effect. She personally thought it was utter nonsense, but one shouldn’t discount things without trying them first.

Now is as good of a time as ever, she supposed..

Cress continued to breathe deeply, and focused on imagining somewhere relaxing. The cluttered warzone of her once perfect office now replaced by a forest of tall oaks and soft grass. She imagined a soft cool breeze caressing her face. Her long white hair that was previously in a tight bun now blew freely in the wind.

Maybe this book was onto something. She smirked to herself.

The sounds of annoying scribes were replaced by the rustling of leaves, the whispering of wind, and the babbling of brooks.

Here, she didn’t have to deal with everything that filled her fury. No reports. No complaints. No requests with competing priorities. No walking apocalypse that summons Phoenix in densely populated areas. She’d need a millennia to adequately express how much that man got under her skin. It’s not that she hates Gendron. He was charming enough; and, admittedly, good on the eyes, but the things he does vexed her in unimaginable ways.

Suddenly, a high pitch sound began to creep into her relaxing mindscape. What is that, she wondered. The squeaking of an adorable woodland creature perhaps? The falling of a distant oak?

The sound pulled her attention away from her meditative expedition enough for her to notice that the once noisy scribes were now silent. Her eyes opened only to see that they were staring at her with concern on their faces.

“I didn’t know it was possible for someone to grind their teeth that loudly.” One of the scribes whispered to another.

Cress glared daggers at the observant young woman, her headache returning with a vengeance.

“Since you find the sounds coming from my mouth so interesting, please, do tell, what you think of these ones?” Cress grated in an escalating tone.

“Get.”

“Back.”

“To work.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The girl yelped, her glasses falling from her face; fumbling, she put them back on, as the scribes all returned to their work, diligent as ever.

Noticing the frost forming on her desk, Cress unclenched her fists and exhaled. Has she always been this uptight?

Probably. She thought.

But she'd never been this stressed. That she knew. If the upcoming opening of the Labyrinth wasn't enough, that idiot had to go and do something as stupid as freezing a Grade Seven Phoenix over the city.

The thought of him downplaying his stupidity with a stupid grin on his face played in her head. “You’re overreacting, Cress. I had it all under control, Cress. I only did it because I love how cute you look when you're angry, Cress” she could hear the halfwit saying.

How could the man not consider the consequences of his actions? Reports have been flying into her office as if they're breeding like rabbits.

She angrily leafed through the stack in front of her:

Fire damage.

Fire damage.

2nd degree burns.

Fire damage.

A citizen worried about the terrifying bird made of flames hovering above their home.

Fire damage.

Yes, the wards placed around the city stopped anything from actually going up in flames, but the damn things can only do so much.

And now, because of his antics, she had to clean up his mess.

That chauvinistic, reckless, stubborn, thick headed… she continued in her head, crinkling the report in her hand.

The grating of her teeth once again brought her back to reality, only for her to see the entire room covered in a thin layer of frost. Her scribes shivered, their breaths forming thick puffs of vapor in front of them. Although their discomfort was apparent, the ice coalescing in their hair and eyebrows seemed to be an efficient motivator, as they were working almost frantically now.

Cress sighed loudly, seemingly unaffected by the cold, as she placed her elbows on the table, resting her head in her gloved hands. She sat like that for a moment, before lazily raising one hand, the other hand still supporting her head.

She extended her index finger. Ice formed around it, turning the finger into what looked like a sharp tipped icicle with joints.

With a small gesture, the frost layering the room and its inhabitants began to be dragged towards her outstretched finger like a silk sheet being pulled off a mattress. As the cold reached the tip, it was sucked in like a whirlpool, until, after a moment, it was like the frost never existed to begin with. Then, just as quickly, the ice encasing her finger dissipated into small fading blue motes of light.

Cress pushed herself up from her desk and walked out the open door to her office’s balcony without saying a word to her underlings. She needed to calm down.

She looked over the city. The wood and brick buildings of Old Town ringed the tall white stoned spires of the Tower District; and in the center of it all sat the Pillar of Kyzyl. It was cold this time of year in the capital, but thankfully, it didn’t snow.

Cress hated the snow.

The idea of that might seem contradictory to most due to the nature of her Bond; however, Cress believed that if there’s something you don’t like, all one needs to do is establish control.

Control. She thought, looking up at the Phoenix, gripping the rails of the balcony. How can one control that? Everything that man does is more nonsensical than the last. She wondered how the other Consuls kept their Pillar’s in line. She’s only been doing this for three years and could already feel the stress aging her.

I mean, at least the damn Phoenix dampens the cold a bit. Cress thought, trying to make light of the situation. At this point, she had to take wins where she could get them.

What she would give to be sitting next to her fireplace with a good book and a warm glass of cider. The thought alone warmed her spirits.

Slightly rejuvenated, she re-entered her office with newfound vigor. Reclaiming her seat, she grabbed a report from one of the stacks in front of her.

Interesting. She thought, reading the report over.

“Stone!” Cress called out, her attention still on the page. “I think I have something for you.”

The door to the office opened and a tall, lanky man learned in the doorway, a toothpick hanging from his mouth. He wore something akin to a black suit, with an overcoat draped over his shoulders.

“Another house call, mam?” The man asked, his voice slow and sultry.

“Even better,” Cress corrected, “You’re going gambling.”