Windhaven, especially in the midst of the amber Autumns was a beautiful, idyllic haven crested with the basking sun’s glow of a landscape of rolling hills and winding streams. The city was situated at the base of the Nareth Mountain Chain and had direct access to the vast, shimmering expanse otherwise known as the Nacreous Ocean. Though, none dared to venture out into the depths of the beautiful sea, else the surest thing that could be heard among the swirling waters was death’s own name itself.

Surrounding the city, fields of verdant meadows were embellished with the vivid embroidery of nameless flowers and lush, tilled land that continuously brought a boundless harvest. Sunlight glimmered and glistened against the teardrop dews of swaying blades of grass, while the eternal winds giggled like innocent children singing playful hymns. Red, yellow, and brown decaying leaves floated and danced in a harmonious duet with the billowing songs before gently casting a rustling charm across the viridescent landscape. Many hearts were struck by the rumored scene and many came to visit just to fulfill their sole desire of sightseeing.

The locals weren’t any stranger to this notion as well, and the city was filled with many cozy shops for tourists. On the days of sabbath, the streets would be crowded with rows of stores and stalls, with happy faces and cheerful laughter echoing behind them. Pleasant tunes would play out into the air, filling the streets with song as bards would sing to their heart’s content. With such a variety offered, not anyone could joke about the westernmost’s city being in the heart of Anciel’s countryside.

Yet as the golden days of autumn melted into weeks of brittle silence, the Winter would soon approach. The wondrous fields of countless flowers would inevitably wilt, leaving behind a quietus that would cause the entire atmosphere to become dead-silent. Tourists would leave for their homes, and farmers would stock up on their produce, preparing to ride out the bitter chill of winter. Doors would shut tight, and candles resting on wooden window sills would alight with flame, flickering against the building frost on the window panes. Families would gather close, wrapped in the warmth of one another’s company while they sat next to the fire of their hearth.

Though, it wasn’t as if to say the blanketed snow would be unwelcome—rather, the frosty coldness contained its own special kind of magic. Within the white world of winter, in the silence of long frigid nights, in the absence of the sun’s embrace. It was an arguable thought that it was quite the perfect situation to partake in one of Windhaven’s truest wonders. After all, the pure bliss that came with long nights of hearty drinking was one of the many reasons the wineries of Windhaven were so highly praised. The outside may appear to be frozen in deadly solitude, but within the cherished taverns, residents and travelers alike sought the sweet taste of apple and perry ciders, richly fermented wines, and the most savory golden meads that could mellow the core and hinder the coldest of feelings.

Although, even if Windhaven contained all these trademark aspects and thrived just like a capital city would, it wasn’t the official capital of Anciel at all. Rather, the pure commercial power at hand made it seem like one in the first place. With its bustling ports and thriving trade, it wasn’t too far to say that Windhaven was Anciel’s heart of commerce.

Everyday, hundreds of chartered ships would dock at the shoreline, and the sight produced by these boats wasn't anything less than beautiful. Especially in the morning, right at the day’s dawn where a single transient moment could be captured of Windhaven’s maritime life. If one stood at the cobbled road along the shore, where if they stared off into the distance of the Nacreous ocean, the silvered surface of the sea would melt and blur with the orange hues of the horizon. And it wasn’t just that, oh no haha—that was merely the background description of the sailor’s stories. Ancient stone spires held up piers that stretched out from the shoreline. The exterior of these pillars were worn smooth by the centuries of salty waves lapping at the stone, while the surface of the quay was covered by the countless faded treads of the sailors’ boots. Tall, graceful masts—some crowned with an elegant crow’s nest—would reach up high into the clouds. Their shadows would sway over the docks as the waves gently pulled and receded. If one were lucky, they could witness the ships—both familiar, and foreign—pull into the vast harbor. These vessels were almost certainly loaded with crates filled with goods, or they were the sleeker and nimble ones that sprinted along with the tide and brought back massive nets of fish.

As for the evenings, they weren’t as exciting in the visual sense of the sea, but an older local may perhaps enjoy the sight of the wooden warehouses and workshops lining the waterfront. Their timbered exterior was charred and weathered black from smog and smoke that spewed out in plumes of labor, while the ocean air did not help in the slightest either. The scores of corrosion were amplified by the salt particles traveling through the air, but the health benefits did allow the citizens to hang onto their lives just for a little longer.

Regardless of the negative virtues of pollution, that didn’t stop anyone from enjoying the fall of dusk at all. Hanging lanterns swung in the coastal breeze, casting flickering reflections that caught against the twilight waters, while the street entertainers with their many sounds of sea shanties brought life to Windhaven’s darkest hours, and the fishy scent of fish markets that sold to customers long till the rays of dawn crept over the horizon. They all somehow managed to mix with the striking aroma of the sea salt, and the image wrought could even bring an elderly person back to when the city was just a wee little port with a decrepit crumbling house. Of course, that elderly person would have to be very elderly, but wouldn’t the feeling be of the same?

Now though, in these modern times, where the looming threat of war did slow trade and commerce by a fair margin. Windhaven was still far more than just a simple port and a decrepit crumbling house. It wasn’t much of a surprise that the people residing in the city enjoyed an opulent abundance of wealth. And with such supple prosperity, one would have to be crazy if they weren’t tempted by the notion of purchasing a beautiful house—or better yet, a grand villa?

Another one of the reasons why Windhaven’s name was so widely spread was for its traditional and stylistic architecture. The elegant, stone and timber refuges that lined the sea’s shore, each with their own breathtaking view of the Nacreous ocean. It was such that it could even be considered to be one of the many wonders brought about by the famed wood mages of olden times. Not that they could be employed quite so readily when the stipend demanded could make even a kingdom keel over in fright.

Anyways, the members of the noble class and individuals that had found themselves in a tremendous well-off position could very well boast that they owned one of these so-called villas. A place where they could hide away from the country’s problematic issues such as war, slaughter, monsters, and most notably taxation. Arguably, the worst of them all.

Though, even if these villas were simply glorified cottages compared to the rest of the living class. The differences among those of wealth were far greater than anyone could imagine. From the smallest, to the biggest lots of land, the cost of property in the area was quite competitive and commanded a huge sum. One could only imagine the gap in wealth that only a dozen square meters could symbolize. Still, these homes were all beautiful nonetheless, painted with a variety of splendid colours and enchanted by professional rune-carving services.

It wasn’t a surprise that the owners of these pleasant homes were satisfied, but alas, the world was large… larger than one would think, and as a result, there was a single odd person who couldn’t quite be considered normal.

“Lucius,” an elderly woman murmured. Her voice was soft, but hid a single melancholic chord that rang out incessantly. She sat on a furnished chair, with curved armrests layered with cushions. Her eyes trailed out the window where the morning light of day was just starting to dawn. “Don’t you think it’s getting quite cold?” she continued, almost as if speaking to herself. “The air… don’t you think it is unusually cold today? It feels like a very bitter bite against your skin, doesn’t it?”

A man stirred from a dark corner, his steps so subtle and quaint it was like he was a shadow itself. He wore a dark suit that melded with the absence of light, but if one were to shine a glow upon him, they would see that he was nothing more than a mere butler. He approached a door and a hand reached out to the handle before suddenly stopping when the elderly woman’s lips formed a wistful smile.

Her head reclined into the chair’s headrest, while her eyes never once left the window’s gaze.

“As you were about to dear, the tea. Do add the Autumn nectar, I can’t bear to miss a cup on a day like this. Oh and Lucius,” she added. “Perhaps bring me a warm blanket as well. I’d like to sit here a while longer, at least until it is time.”

Lucius’s hip tilted over into a deep bow, his forehead nearly gracing the wooden flooring of the home as if it was a notion repeated countless times. He maintained the position for a second then the door clicked shut behind him as his steps receded into the emptiness of the halls. A breeze sifted through the open window, rustling across the linen curtains, causing them to flutter with a faint ruffle.

Today was a very special day, where the clouds drifted across the sky languidly, casting gentle shadows over the landscape. Hours could pass, captured in this moment, but the withered woman etched out a sigh.

Most villas built in the city were conveniently placed along the most populated areas, where everything was accessible to anything a person could ever want. But there was one lonely home out there that sat inappropriately atop a wayward hill. Where what should’ve been at least a lighthouse was the resting grounds of a long faded villa. The sight had long drawn the people’s ire, but in time, it was just one of the many curses of everyday life.

Stone walls, once polished and bold now bore the vices of abandonment with its ghostly gray color. Deep cracks ran through the areas that had not yet crumbled, while those that still stood hopelessly, were overtaken by thick strands of annoyingly weeding ivy. Within said walls and beyond a once magnificent arch-shaped gate that was rusted past belief, was a heartbreaking view of a garden. Like the walls, everything was overtaken by weeds and unpleasant murky flowers. Stacks of rotting red bricks lay among the untrimmed grass, never to be used for any sort of repair.

As for the house itself, what more could be said than that it was a stain upon the wonders of Windhaven. The roof tiles were cracked, chipped at their ends, and were most definitely once aligned perfectly in past times. But now, they weren’t any better than the large arched windows spanning across the first floor. These windows, once adorned with intricate glasswork, were either shattered or clouded by decades of grime. Beneath them, a fog almost seemed to roll across the base of the building. It wasn’t magical at all, rather it brought about the depressing feeling of a graveyard.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, tattered curtain fabrics that faded to lifeless shades of gray and brown peeked out in hopes that they could once again sway in the mellow breeze. It was sad, really. And it wasn’t like the butler was useless, rather it wasn’t worth the effort in the slightest. Not when—Perhaps this butler really was useless…

At the main lobby where the massive main doors stood, crafted with the finest mahogany and adorned with a dual wielding rapper knocker made of a silver that had long lost its lustre. They now creaked slightly off their hinges, unable to be closed for good.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing as the manor was home to an old woman named Odelette Wisteria. Very rarely did she leave, and in the scenario that she did, the only thing that swept past her in the streets were the omens of doom and gloom. Although it was already said that today was a very special day, and only when it was such a day, did Odelette Wisteria do something more than lazily sip at her tea.

The door swung open, and Lucius entered the room carrying a tray with a wisping pot of tea and a set of elegant porcelain cups. He set the tray atop the glossy surface of the mineral glass table and carefully poured a stream of steaming liquid into one of the cups. And as Odelette drew the boiling tea against her lips, an image of the ignorance of bliss stood out against the vast skies.

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Many would not know that Windhaven was once a vital position to be held in an ancient war. With its height advantages, the soldiers that faced the sea enjoyed an ease of defense. Still though, casualties were bound to occur, and with that a small military hospital had been built on a dear, darling hill. Heilen was the name of the hill, and its position was nigh impossible to approach. The roads were narrow and steep, but the safety provided for its patients was pivotal to Anciel’s history. Now, the hospital sat right next to where a lone tree stood tall as its sole companion. It had become but an intermediate, industrial building for non-emergency recovery. Those who weren’t able to function normally in society, or simply required a set of eyes were welcome to stay.

Odelette Wisteria’s gaze drifted down to the base of the hill, just beyond the sightline of the city itself and there was a stagecoach drawn by a pair of horses. One black, the other white. A slight smile shifted onto her wrinkled features, and for the first time in what people assumed to be many years, the light illuminating the single room on the fourth floor of the manor flickered off gently.

***

The horse’s grumbling bray echoed from outside of the stagecoach which was quickly followed by a loud snort from its partner. The rocky terrain jarred against the wheels, causing them to rattle with an almost splintering sound. Whoever was inside would’ve been bounced unpleasantly with every jolt, but no qualms could be heard. And it remained like so for several minutes, with the muscular animals treading upwards slowly, their hooves clopping in resentment of whoever had forced them to brave such a road.

Regardless of the arduous climb, curious eyes peeked out from the nooks and crannies of the hillside. Rabbits, squirrels, and fluttering butterflies appeared, pausing to watch the stagecoach for a moment before going about their business. After all, the coach was nothing new at this point, for it had arrived every day at the exact same hour with not a single break in between. To the animals, it was nothing more than a daily passing of their lives.

Soon, the slope leveled out and the wheels no longer creaked out in pain. In the distance, the hospital building drifted into view, sitting at the end of a gravelly road that stretched out to welcome the stagecoach. A whip was cracked, and the wheels slowly rolled forward until it finally stopped at the edge of a gated enclosure. There was a tiny little garden that was freshly attended to, with flower buds receding away from the winter that was to come.

The aroma was pleasant.

A narrow tiled path strolled through the garden and led up to a small wooden bench, where one could bask in the warmth of the sun, or gaze out at the playground that sat in the far corner of the property. There was a gravel field beside it as well to pair, perhaps if for playing outdoor sports, or maybe even for rehabilitation purposes. Although, as the swing squeaked out in a lonely chime, not a single child could be seen in sight. After all, school was still in session, but it was also far too early for kids to be out and about. Then, the swing was left alone with the wind.

The stagecoach’s door swung open, and the person who hopped off could simply be described as a beautiful woman. She wore no dress, nor no skirt, but rather a simple white shirt tucked neatly beneath a soft, pastel blue scarf. Covering her legs were slim fitting pants made from a darker shaded rochelle-coloured fabric. Her weathered leather boots came up almost to her knees, while spilling out from her pocket dangled a thin silver chain.

As she walked, her neck was craned high, the chain clinking out in sounds of metal while her dark, almost navy blue hair loosely fluttered about from behind her. Her head swiveled, hazel eyes sweeping the scenery. But it was a sight that had already been ingrained within her mind. She did think it was pretty, but where the true magic could be seen was on the second floor of the building. There the best view of the city existed… that was as long as flight could still not be achieved by conventional means. Then, it would truly be up for discussion whether it was the best sightseeing spot or not.

Pushing open the hospital’s door, the woman nodded in acknowledgment to the receptionist of the building who answered with a deep, respectful bow. No words were exchanged, and she continued with her heeled steps echoing across the hospital halls. Perhaps if not for the bright red apple in her hands, those she had passed would not have given her such a peculiar look. But her presence had long been received as a frequent visitor, and she happily returned all the gestures of respect directed towards her despite being seen as unladylike.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor, turning into a closed off corridor where the sunlight streamed in through tall and arched, floor to ceiling windows. Particles of dust were illuminated as they lazily drifted through the air, only to disappear when they slipped into the shade.

The woman’s steps slowed and she pulled close to the edge of the window. From here, the clearest view of Windhaven existed, and to think that she ever thought the humble Willowmere could compare. The boats with the hard at work sailors, the oceans with their gulls dotting the waters white, and the early mornings of the city itself.

A sigh slipped past her lips and a hand was pressed tight against the glass. For all its beauty—even if it was the most treasured thing in the world. It wasn’t home.

Yet that didn’t mean she was a hypocritical person. Like all the other days, she would stay and wait to enjoy the view.

Autumn’s golden colors were fully displayed today, more so than any other day, but as her faint reflection faded into view, the image of her own self had continuously grown weary. Coming here for a month on end, it was a large toll on her own health, but it was an insignificant price compared to the sacrifices that were made in her name’s sake.

Just then, a pair of footsteps echoed from down the hall, breaking through her thoughts. The woman turned, her hand slipping away from the window whilst missing the sun’s warmth the glass provided. She watched as a nurse approached, and even if the day had just begun, the woman was already looking tired enough. Her uniform was red and white, while a clipboard was clutched tightly in her hands.

The nurse stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply.

“Lady Rosenhart,” she greeted.

The navy-haired woman with the surname of Rosehart rolled her eyes at the words before gnashing into her apple with an unsightly crunch.

“Theresa,” she replied between a disgraceful bite, not even so much as bothering to close her mouth whilst chewing. “Haven’t I told you many times already? Olivia is just fine.”

The nurse paused, her lips pursing into a thin line. “My lady. You scorn yourself with your unceremoniousness. I am but a mere nurse, and you are of noble blood. I do not deserve the grace to sully your name.”

“Oh come on now. We’ve known each other for what…” Olivia muttered, “Forever! Or at least the first twenty years of our lives.”

She threw the remains of the apple core into a nearby trash can and made direct eye contact with the other woman. Though, the nurse only crossed her arms, unamused.

“Theresa Stern,” Olivia stated and the former raised a brow. The nurse gestured to her to go on with her green eyes which only held scrutiny.

Olivia let out a frustrated sigh. “Remember when we were kids and we would sneak into the kitchen to steal the snacks.”

“For all I know, it wasn’t my suggestion,” Theresa retorted. “You were the one obsessed with getting your apples.”

“Oh now you’re just making things up,” Olivia scoffed, crossing her arms as well.

Theresa shrugged, “If my memory serves right. Thirty years ago I could’ve sworn I’d seen a young lady who crept out the window every night to raid the pantries.”

“Uh huh, keep talking like you didn’t chase after me to stuff your face with pudding.”

The nurse’s expression glazed over with ice and Olivia only let out a laugh.

“Don’t make that face Theresa. I really do miss those days,” The navy haired woman started. “When the cooks would chase after us and we’d laugh like it was the greatest heist of the century. Or when I’d accidently set the library on fire and you had to call mother and father. Wasn’t it so exciting?!”

“Perhaps it was,” The nurse’s features finally cracked and softened. “But times have changed, my lady. We are not the little girls that we once were. Then, I was only your maid. Now, I am a diligent nurse. I apologize, but it is not my place to address you as an equal.”

“Ugh, equal this equal that…” Olivia hung her head in defeat whilst shaking her head. “At least you’re still as stubborn as ever…” She paused, raising her gaze. “...Just not in the good way.”

A twinkle emerged in the nurse’s eye and she waved her hand dismissively.

“Maybe so,” Theresa chuckled and she glanced out the window. “It’s a wonderful day isn’t it?”

Olivia nodded. “It is.”

The two stood in silence and the fluttering autumn leaves blew past. The nurse clutched her clipboard just a tad tighter, and her voice dropped down a pitch.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend to you at all for the last two weeks,” Theresa mumbled and Olivia’s eyes flickered on over. “I’ve heard things from the other nurses, but I just wanted to ask you myself… How is Gordon?”

At the mention of his name, Olivia’s face darkened. “Gordon… he’s… well—”

She hesitated, her voice trailing off into silence as she looked away towards the ground for a moment, hoping to find just anything to say.

“...I don’t know,” Olivia finally mumbled. “The way that he looks at me now… I just feel like a stranger.”

“You never told him?” Theresa interjected suddenly, but her hands quickly flew up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Olivia dismissed the apology with a sad shake of her head. “No, it’s alright. It’s just…” her arms wrapped around her shoulders. “I never wanted to tell him, maybe I should have but… he thinks that his dreams don’t matter anymore.”

Theresa remained silent, only listening.

“He—no, we. We both wanted to start a restaurant together, away from the rest of the world and their affairs. Just scrambling for money through hard work. Something little that we could call our own you know?” Olivia started and a hollow, choked laugh left her lips. “Now… he just looks at me like I’m one of them. Like I’m one of the nobles that started this war and forced us out of our home…”

Olivia felt a warm hand settling down upon her shoulder, and she turned to lock eyes with the nurse. Her reflection shimmered in those emerald irises as if she was within a burning flame.

“Theresa. The Rosenharts… my family, they wanted this war,” Olivia scowled, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. “I didn’t want to use their money, but I had no choice. Gordon wasn’t a person with a high level so his recovery would’ve been slow… And I didn’t want him to be in pain waiting for the doctor who might never come. So I went ahead and hired the best healer I could find. You know… it’s a miracle that he’s even alive, but…”

Olivia trailed off, her voice fading into a whisper. “I just don’t know if it was the right choice.”

“Olivia,” Theresa tightened her grip on the woman’s shoulder with a smile. “Wrong choice or not, trust him to understand. He’s been in Willowmere his whole life, and you have for half of yours. Be gentle with him. You didn’t choose to be a noble, so just give it some time.”

“You really think that would work?” Olivia muttered quietly.

“I’m a nurse. There’s no better remedy for the mind than time,” Theresa affirmed with a nod. She then glanced over to a section of the corridor, a sign cast overhead with the bright words of—

[Restricted Area: Authorized Personnel Only.]

“Speaking of that miracle,” The nurse started while Olivia’s chest suddenly felt tight, her pulse beginning to pound in her ears.

“She’s awa—”

“She’s awake?!” Olivia blurted out.

“If you mean the girl, then yes but—”

Before the nurse could even finish, the sounds of footsteps slapping against the hospital floor echoed down the corridor as she bolted into the restricted area, disappearing out of the nurse’s sight. Shouts from fellow nurses were heard from the distance, and Theresa could only shake her head softly.

“—It’s not your fault.”

Olivia rushed past the nurses and attendants trying to stop her. The door where that girl was, the person who had saved her husband’s life. Why couldn’t they let her see her, even when she had raised her name as a noble.

It was too long of a wait.

Her hands slammed against the cold wood of the door, and her gaze peered through the thin ovaled window within it. Her eyes trembled when the image of a reticent, motionless doll returned. Limpid blue orbs, framed by a ghostly pale face stared vacantly into the end of the room. Black streaking hair with tips seared white flowed over a torso wrapped in bandages too numerous to count.

It was a cold, and bitter beauty. For her delicate arms… that should’ve fell to her sides, no longer existed. And even if they had worked in the kitchen for a portion of the journey. The painful sight made Olivia realize just how little she knew about the girl.

“Cecillia…”