In her heart, she begged not to be made a liar. Was she already weak and compromised? Had she given time to patience and soiled her mind with bitter nothings. Ellenore could only beg that she not become a liar. When she said that her future was her own to chart, or destiny had no hold over her fate, she wished to believe her words were true. But time had her question. Time would have Ellenore wonder if her patience was all that she had to give. How long would she wait before her endeavors were put to rest? How long could a ripple in the stream carry before it faded into clarity?

"Father, don't make me a liar," she whispered in her thoughts. Though she concluded, it had never been in his hands to mark what her truth was. If she wished to leave, if she declared her departure, only Ellenore could say whether the air from her lips carried sound worth a listen.

Beneath the dawn’s amber hue, she stood, heart racing with dreams hashed. A satchel packed, a map unfurled, lady Ellenore was ready to explore the wider world. Her eyes would drift to the entryway, a narrow hall where light swelled over silver steps and mirrored walls. Each minute, she anticipated Kurt’s arrival that day, but her guard was dreadfully late.

Without Kurt, Ell’s quest could not be fulfilled.

Each hour that passed, her hope strained, strangled by agitation and impatiently treading across the manor. By noon, the eager girl began to question whether she should linger further or take her leave alone?

The sun climbed high. The day moved on. Still, she waited from dusk till dawn. Adventure whispered a distant call, yet Kurt’s absence cast a shadowy pall.

Despite her doubt, she held her luggage, swinging it with aggression as reality set some hours after the sun. Surely the craftsman wouldn’t abandon her, she thought. Soon, his steps would sound, Ellenore told herself in desperation.

But an hour more was all that it took before she threw her things to the rugs.

Kurt never came. The craftsman hadn’t visited nor communicated a reason why.

Ellenore paced back and forth in the grand parlor, her frustration palpable. She had spent the entirety of the day under a dome ceiling. Looking up, watching through glass so clear it disappeared, the sky had faded through each color of hours passed only to return to black. An ornate clock on the mantel of a fireplace ticked relentlessly, each minute amplifying her anxiety. Rachel, her devoted maid, stood nearby, her hands clasped in a gesture of concern.

“Ellenore, my lady,” Rachel began gently, “perhaps it’s fate that’s kept him away. Maybe it’s a sign.”

Ellenore paused, her eyes narrowing. “You know what this means to me. I’ve planned for months. How could fate be so cruel?”

Rachel stepped closer, her voice soft and soothing. “Sometimes, fate has a way of guiding us towards what is best, even if we can't see it in the moment. I always admired my mother. She was an incredible painter whose canvases seemed to breathe. Every brushstroke she made whispered tales of distant places, hidden dreams, and ethereal beauty. She painted portraits of the king before she passed. Growing up amidst the changing world, I yearned to follow in her footsteps, to wield the brush with the same grace and passion. My sisters always told me to aim more sensibly. Our mother’s success was something grand but unique, difficult to replicate. Of course, I didn’t care.

Ellenore understood the purpose of her maid's tale, but the story was patronizing to sit through. Good intentions or none, Rachel had become just another pessimistic viewer telling Ellenore to be realistic. Still, Ellenore listened. She sat through the tale meant to politely lecture her into growing up. She listened because, whether Rachel understood how little her story would help, Ellenore understood the purpose was to help. Beyond the manor, the common folk would have ridiculed Ell's pursuits, but the maid's skepticism was at least brought on by genuine concern.

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"I simply wished to be an artist. So, I moved to the pleasure district. For some odd years, I struggled and starved, but I felt it was my right to do so. Despite my fervent efforts, my paintings lacked the magic that flowed so effortlessly from my mother’s hand. My colors felt muted, my shapes uncertain. Each failure weighed heavily on my heart, casting a shadow over my once-bright aspirations. My love for art lingered, but I knew if I wished to see another summer, I had to find work that would pay.”

“Fate had you abandon paint and brushes?” Ellenore remarked in a tone favoring sarcastic dismissal on its coat tail.

“My dreams haven’t died. I found great peace and stability in becoming your maid, though my former self may never have been willing. I pursue my ambitions in leisure. Perhaps you can grow without leaving the nest. A compromise.”

“I would be stunted, a flightless bird.”

Just as Rachel meant to continue her persuasion, the sudden ringing of the doorbell cut through the tension. Ellenore’s heart leapt, and without a second thought, she ran. It was late to receive guests, and a servant would have turned the visitor away, but Ell rushed to swing open the silver double doors.

Her heart wasn’t prepared for the man that had arrived.

“Larimer?”

The troll, dressed in his best black pants and an orange leather vest, stood on the porch steps in aww at the massive house Ellenore called home. But what caught the girl’s eye was the bag on his back meant for travel. “It’s rare that I feel small, but this place dwarfs a mountain,” the barman said with unease. Though he possessed the power to crush any in his way, the eyes of servants that watched his every move were nearly enough to drive him away. Had Ellenore not taken him by the hand and guided him inside, Larimer may well have turned back.

He wasn't in a place meant for him, and yet, he didn't have to hunch his back to stand under such tall roofs. His foot steps were uncertain, but they moved forward.

The barman shed light on Kurt's absence, revealing an inconvenient third hand account of events. Kurt and his family had been taken under suspicion of criminal conspiracy and harboring dangerous criminals. However, the craftsman wasn't the only person taken that day. Many men, mostly elms, had been accused of crimes. Larimer, careful to conceal his ties with the horde, only explained the necessary facts so the girl would understand she had lost an employee.

"I'm ready," Larimer said, his voice steady despite the hesitation in his thoughts. His choice to leave the city was a new one, but he had too many reasons to go.

"It pains me to say it, but not yet. We can't go," Ellenore replied, her frustration evident.

Larimer sighed deeply, caught between reason and emotion. "I'm here," he declared.

Ellenore's determination burned brightly. "My guard has been imprisoned. I won't abandon one who was my choice. I promised Kurt an adventure, and my word won't be made a lie."

"You've known the craftsman less than a season," Larimer countered, his jealousy faint but present beneath the surface.

He had nothing against Kurt as a man, but anyone who associated with the horde knew the risks they were taking. He couldn’t feel sorry for the craftsman, but he fought an urge to be relieved that the boy had been taken out of play.

Ellenore's eyes narrowed. "As I understand it, you've known him far longer. Would you say he deserves to be punished?"

The troll's jealousy remained, yet his honest heart allowed him to speak the truth. "We get what we earn, but he ain't earned this, not if I'm free." The weight of his words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unfair world they navigated.

Standing at the wayside, Rachel could only mutter “Ms.” at the sight of a troll so rugged, so tall, so blue as Larimer sitting beside her lady in the parlor. Their proximity, the obvious comfort, and familiarity between the two were blatant. The barman’s body took up two shares of seats when he spread his legs, and Ellenore showed no bother while she sat draped across his figure. She made twirls in Larimer's hair to calm his restless nerves, but the barman had every reason to be tense. Sitting in the home of their city's great inventor, surrounded by the watchfull eyes of disapproving servants, would have been enough. Beginning a conspiracy to aid an associate of the horde was a sharper pin under his ass, one that refused to let him settle if it meant Ell was preparing to endanger herself. No matter how sweet Ellenore's touch was, it wasn't enough. However, what had the troll burning the most was a decision. He had chosen to leave with Ellenore, and like her, the longer their departure took, the more unlikely it felt.

A lie waiting to be proven.

"Then it's settled. Come morning, I will see my guard freed from the office of law, and we three will depart from this city without further delay," Ellenore declared.

Rachel repeated, "Ms." Until her lady and the barman broke their focus to turn their heads.

"Yes?" Ellenore said, acknowledging her maid's discomfort.

"Your father won't approve."

"My father won't be a concern, not anymore."

It was time the girl took action, but only time would tell if her impatience would guide her to act fierce or reckless. After her long wait, both were likely.