Sunrays met Aloe’s face.

“Ugh...” The girl groaned as she rubbed her eyes. “I still feel like shieeet...”

Truly a poet of her age.

Aloe blinked thrice and finally opened her eyes. She lay unmoving on her bed; her sight locked onto the ceiling. Her bed, which just a month ago had been her refuge from problems, was now but a coffin. A cage that tied her down. Even if was made of feathers, it felt tougher than the wood slate that Karaim had for bed in the greenhouse.

“I don’t want to wake up...” Aloe groaned, a half-sob hiding through the noises.

After having a... somewhat normal sleep, she felt the world heavier around her. Greyer yet more real. She raised her arm, putting her palm on top of her face, rays filtering through her fingers.

“I hate reality...” Her voice was weak and tired, even if she had just woken up.

Her arm fell to the side with a heavy thud, her mind bursting with decisions she had to take. The world didn’t even allow her to mourn her mother. She now realized what Shahrazad felt when Karaim died.

“But at least she cared... I’m just... a void.” Aloe muttered, her voice breaking with every word. “Devoid... of... emotion.”

Aloe sobbed.

----------------------------------------

Even if she had woken up early, the sun had gone up quite a lot by the moment she sat on the kitchen table. Her finger circled around the fruit bowl, it was full of spoiled fruit, and she honestly should have thrown them away, but she didn’t have the strength nor the presence of mind to do so.

“Umar added that the cannabis that Karaim planted, the... uhm...” Aloe tried hard to remember the words spoken by the old apothecary, but most of yesterday was a blur. “Whatever... he said that it took around eight and ten weeks to grow, low-balling it and applying the ‘fast growth’ infusion, that’s still a month. When did I even plant the seeds? Two weeks ago? Then I still have two weeks before they finish growing...”

Aloe sighed, the movements of her hands stopping in realization and mental exhaustion.

“That’s a lot of time.” She closed her eyes and slumped her shoulders. “Maybe I should take Rani’s offer...” Her exhaustion was so great that she didn’t even notice she had referred to the emir of Sadina by her name subconsciously. “It’s going to be a lot of time without any income...”

Tamara had graciously given her fifty drupnars, and whilst that could easily feed her for two months if she was scarce with her food intake and harvested the crops from her plantations, it wouldn’t allow for other expenses. Like seeds.

“Even if I wanted to accept, when will she even get back to Sadina?” Aloe whispered, her eyes shining ever-so-slightly brighter as she thought of the sultanzade. “If she just stayed one day, which I doubt, that will be at least a week... I can live with that. And there’s also Tamara’s ink proposal, but I don’t even have a date for that.”

There were a lot of sources of income, but she needed to be intelligent with them.

“Staying far away from the greenhouse for a long time isn’t an option.” She mused. “There are other alternatives, like...” Her eyes turned dark. “No... that’s out of the question...” Aloe talked to herself. “I... I can’t sell anything.”

She admitted in defeated, crestfallen.

The house didn’t have much to begin with, and selling anything was a disservice. Not only to the dead but also to her memories. She couldn’t do that to her mother and father, and less to herself.

“There’s enough right now...” Aloe said almost whimpering and raised her head. “I should see what I can make out of this though.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

In her hand lay a piece of Myriad glass. Because the kitchen windows were closed, as were all the other windows in the house, only the faintest sunbeams filtered through the wooden cervices. Instead of the second coming of the sun, the Myriad glass was a dim candle. Though, unlike the flickering light of the flame, it was a constant stream of unfaltering light.

Like the sun. Just weaker.

Aloe put strength on her grip and stood up, storing the glass piece in one of her satchels.

In all honesty, she wanted to leave Sadina. There were too many feelings, memories, and decisions here. So much so that they were overwhelming her. The desire to book it and go back with Fikali to the oasis was strong, but she held her footing.

Barely.

With a trembling hand, the girl opened the door to the outside and locked it.

She didn’t know where to go, her best bet was to visit a glassworker, but even if she did so, she didn’t know any.

For starters, Aloe strolled down the bazaar. Sunlight and fresh air would only do her good.

It was an unconscious thought, but Aloe donned her green-laced straw hat. She walked slowly around the waking bazaar – as if she still was on the oasis, free of hardships – and looked at the moving people. Some merchants were just setting up their tents, this just reminded Aloe how early Aloe had woken up.

And the time she had lost in her mourning.

Aloe pressed down her hat, hiding her eyes from the world, not because the sun was weighing down on her but because her emotions weighed her down.

The noises of children caught her attention. They weren’t playing, but helping adults set up their tents and businesses. Those children would probably rush to school in a few minutes.

Even if with the edicts of the sultanah Aaliyah-al-Ydaz mandated that all children in Ydaz were entitled to education, it was true that said education varied heavily across the regions and economic standings.

In villages and far away farmlands, small churches had been constructed. The teachers of those remote locations would either be local priests or scholars of the universities on a government-sponsored lease. Most people saw scholars with a stinky eye, yet the sultanah seemed to favor them greatly.

For some reason.

That fact didn’t align with her (in)famous reputation, though it was easy to guess why she wanted the children educated besides economic reasons. It was said by the snake tongues that the sultanah spent no day unpregnant. She must really love children.

People said this education ordeal was about raising the acceptance of the universities and scholars on Ydaz. But at the same time, did that even matter? The sultanah was laying out free education for every child, no matter their background.

Sure, that meant having one extra hand less helping on the field, but beyond the widespread – and mostly unfounded, in Aloe’s opinion – hate towards the academics, there were no negatives to free education.

The sultanah just asked for one thing, not even raising taxes or other negative side effects, and that was for every child to get a compulsory education.

In the beginning, this change was made with hate, but over the years, everyone accepted and praised the sultanah’s edicts as wise and fair.

Education centers in big cities like Sadina were somewhat better as they were specialized, but the lowest-standing children would go to Churches of the Heavens instead of actual schools. Those sites of oration had become overflooded and partially transformed into lecture halls.

In less than a few decades, churches had gone from imparting mass gospel to mass lectures.

Aloe hadn’t been like those children.

Whilst not a noble, who would probably have either private tutors or directly assist at children-specialized courses in universities, Aloe had attended school.

And it wasn’t cheap.

The only reason why her family wasn’t as rich as they should have been with two members of their family formerly working directly for the emir, was because of expenses.

Aya, Mirah and Jafar’s daughter, attended a normal school. They were just fancy lecture halls where kids were taught by competent teachers and were expected to pay an education fee. Aloe, on the other hand, attended an academy.

Those were most expensive.

Parchment, ink, books, tutelage, uniforms... all of those cost a lot of money. Their family hadn’t been done badly economically thanks to their rather high-standing jobs. It spoke a lot of academy fees when they were almost as expensive as a house.

“Thankfully that was paid soon after Dad died, otherwise...” It had left them without money, but Shahrazad and Aloe didn’t have to worry about being homeless in their lives, just being left without savings.

Aloe looked up finding herself in front of a school as children poured in. It was obviously not an academy as the children wore a myriad of clothing pieces, shouting chaotically, and their backs and hands free of any lecturing and writing equipment.

“It was all easier back then...” Being a gifted and intelligent child, Aloe had been a source of praise.

Unfortunately, that time was over.

And even more so, it would never come back.

Aloe sniffed, keeping the tears and snot in.

“I... I should get going.” Soon enough the city littered with the clinking of bells, whether from churches or schools, as the working day started.