Chapter One 

On the outskirts of an island of equal distance from the USA as it was from Canada (though neither nation had formally colonized it, and so its political standing remained a gray area to the inhabitants.) a rundown cabin resided. Inside, a band partaken of the older part of middle aged were seated in a ring in what might be called a living room for lack of a better term. Only two outliers in age occupied the room, a slim, golden-haired man of thirty and a dark-haired girl of a mid-twenty with a similar demeanor. The man called out, 

“Magnolia!”  

“Coming! Coming!” A voice of fickle inflection returned. The man massaged his forehead to quell the slight smart already forming. Extended discourse with Magnolia would sadly result in a migraine, the shrilled flutters of her speech willed it so. A squat woman entered with a kettle. “Ooh, ooh here we are.” Everyone in the room held a teacup for which there was no surface to set it on, so most of the assemblage compromised by setting it in their laps. “Up now please, Laurence.” A bulky, heavily scarred man took the cup from his legs and held it so Magnolia could pour.  

“Is this really necessary?” The head-ached man inquired, thinking how all English folks were nothing short of cranks, and what unnatural relations they all had with tea too... 

“Well, it’s the proper thing to do for a gathering.”  

“Could we take hussymilk in it if we desired?” the same man asked with breezy blatancy. Magnolia reddened and started on a fitfully shrill sputtering. 

“H-how indecent, don’t make such remarks in this company – this company!” She responded when she gathered herself. He loudly picked at the chipped edging of his wooden chair and thought how disturbingly odd the inability the English folks possessed at articulating rs was.   

“Still, I’ve always wondered what it might taste like, I mean They allow us to drink it in our infancy for a time – and it isn’t like I can try it now, can’t risk that unless I’m particularly inclined to be murdered in a long and drawn out agony, yes...” he mused. 

“I say Mitchell, stop!” The tail end of her exclamation flew into her highest pitch yet – simply ear-splitting, as Mitchell registered.  

“Should we start on the discussion of Lucy then?” A brown-haired man prompted. 

“God, you’ve given it a name?” Mitchell asked. The brunet man eyed him and returned 

“That’s the name her parents gave her.” Mitchell rolled his eyes. 

“What’s there to say about her?” he asked. Magnolia had nearly filled everyone’s cups then; she was almost back to Mitchell. She responded.  

“Why, she’s the – the cream of the crops to put it really quite literally. There will be huge and violent bids for her as she’s the only remaining purebred, we could refuse to give her to Them, threaten to kill her maybe – of course we’d never do it!” Laurence spoke up and Mitchell silently rebuked every deep, British tone he uttered. 

“It's a good idea. She’s the last of the Aldaine kind. We can do it when she’s - err, ‘ripe’ as They say. They’ll be most anticipating of her then and won’t have much of a chance to find and retrieve her as the Aldaine’s ripeness never lasted long.” 

“Yeah but they’ll have just pimped her out by the time they’ve found she wasn’t really barren though. They’d have many more half Aldaine’s They’d have to look forward to and we wouldn’t be able to account for them all, They’d make sure the offspring are all spread out so no one could pull such a stunt.” Magnolia’s face grew redder still and she lowered her head. 

“There are ways” she started quietly, “to make one barren.” She’d finished filling everyone’s teacups by the time, yet no one had taken a sip. It was quiet for a while before the brown-haired man – Johnathan, Mitchell finally remembered – broke the silence. 

“Ms. Fandrick, are you suggesting...are you proposing...?” 

“Yes.” She confirmed, unshrinking. Mitchell made eye contact with Jill, the youngest in the room. He raised a brow satirically; she offered no reaction. Not a word had she ever said at the assemblies and not a word would she ever say at future ones. Instead, Jill kept quite to herself with a dark-tinted, reclusive air about her wherever she went.  

“Dear me...” Came a low voice from a few people down from Mitchell, Ellen.  

“Don’t go about thinking it too immoral now, it’s what we’d need to do. Imagine what They’d do to us when They find Lucy isn’t barren – and I beg you imagine the alternative.” Everyone took a few seconds to consider the alternative. 

“I suppose” Laurence faltered then recollected himself. “Ah- well I suppose you should be right.” Magnolia’s florid complexion ebbed some.  

“Yes... yes I know it's horrible.” Mitchell leaned back and drummed his fingers on his chin for some interest in his situation, all the drivel was about driving him mad. “Well, we should work out the details of what we’d demand then.” 

“Only after...” Laurence communed the rest of his sentence through a grave expression and eye contact with Magnolia; her cheeks flamed anew.  

“You’re to do it now in front of the group? Why couldn’t it have been taken care of before?”  

“To make an example, to show what happens to traders.” Laurence stood and another man of similar build stood after him. “Flinn,” he addressed the man “see to it he doesn’t escape.” 

“Aye.” From his pocket Flinn produced a whittle, failing to be surreptitious. He then turned to the left of the circle. In the interchange, a small and very wrinkled man’s face had paled at the word trader and had about wholly depigmented by the time the men rose and turned in his direction. At Flinn’s first step towards him he flew out of his chair and bolted for the back door. Thumb and forefinger perhaps brushed the door’s lock minutely to the right before Flinn overtook the man. Flinn had the man immobile in his grasp not long after. 

“John.” Laurence started, “you’ve chosen to be an enemy of humanity.” John tweaked his countenance into a sensible composition of creases. 

“Gentlemen,” he quelled wisely, “you must’ve been misinformed; I am devoted to this cause.” Laurence narrowed his eyes at Flinn and Flinn accordingly deployed a punch to John’s gut. Blood vessels pronounced amid John’s newly bulged eyes and he discarded the pretense half due to the blow and half due to his recollection of making himself known by running. “E-enemy of humanity – how ignorant. How bigoted. This work is for- for humanity, for its containment! This group prizes itself above the rest of humankind, you don’t see the necessity of this island. You are the true enemy of humanity, I’m an advocate of it!” The group stimulated some. 

“John you haven’t possibly...” Tremored Ellen. 

“Anyone who selfishly goes behind our backs will be shown no mercy.” Laurence announced. 

“So, I figure it’ll be alright to selflessly deceive the group then, yes?” Mitchell commented meditatively, fingers still drumming on his chin. Laurence stared at him with the utmost dislike and disdain. A flashing look of unamusement was sent to Mitchell from Jill but went unnoticed. 

“John have you any last words?” Laurence asked. 

“Oh!” Delores, Ellen’s neighbor in seating, hysterically exclaimed. “Oh, oh, oh tell me you don’t mean to murder him here! What barbarous group have you made this out to be!? Oh I won’t look – I won’t stay if you do it here!”  

“There’s no merit in killing a man in front of this crowd.” Jonathon agreed. Laurence became indignant. 

“How is the punishment to be ingrained in treasonous minds then? This lot will have order same as every political establishment elsewhere.” He growled. 

“This moment will be plenty ingrained.” Lent Jonathon. “Please either take him outside and carry on or do it after the meeting or on your own accord.”  

“Outside in bright daylight!? I wish you would – where's your head in suggesting such a thing? You will wait until you are somewhere else with John to –to – to torture answers out of him or kill him!” Magnolia declared. Laurence resigned himself silently and made a hand gesture to Flinn.  

“Have ye rope madam?” Flinn asked Magnolia.  

“Indeed I do, it’s out in the shed, I’ll fetch it for you.” Magnolia headed out to do so and returned in a timely manner. She passed it to Flinn who was tasked with the grueling work of tying the squirming John up tightly. When it was managed Jonathon asked rather quietly 

“Is it not possible to just keep him prisoner?” Laurence’s expression brimmed with intolerance. 

“Puh! In my experience good sir” Mitchell appended the term ‘good sir’ to the running total of eccentricities of the British. “all attempts at imprisonment result in the hostage breaking loose and bringing terrible things to their former imprisoners.”  

“And what experiences have you?” Inquired Mitchell, there was a long and tensely tangible eye contact between the two. 

“Why don’t we vote on the punishment?” Jonathon suggested; the rest of the party sounded their assent. 

“It was decided this part of the group would be left to me.” Laurence groused.  

“Democracy” Jonathon began, “is a notion quickly rising in popularity.” It was apparent that Laurence felt chagrined and Jonathon tried to remedy their relationship with an apologetic half smile.  

“Do what you want, I have no right to dictate” Laurence shot a look at Jonathon at the government analogue, it was made clear Jonathon’s attempt went unpalliated, “this establishment.” He made yet another motion to Flinn, who retracted his knife and made to pull up a chair next to John, who was seated far from the group. 

“I gots an eye on him, Laurence sir.” Mitchell meanwhile was having trouble deciding whether Flinn had an English accent or not, it was one of those quiddities where it sounded normal upon inattentive listening but surfaced details of the British articulation as you continued to hear it.  

“All in favor of imprisoning John over killing him, raise your hands.” Everyone in the band except Mitchell, Laurence, and the devoted Flinn raised their hands. 

“I don’t care either way really...” Mitchell said in a drawing tone. 

As the newly instated prisoner sat aside, the band returned as best they could to the former topics with anxieties athrill. As the ring continued their discussion, teacups wore imperceivably from oiled hands and once scorching tea (as Magnolia Fandrick had left it on the stove for a bit too long) cooled undrunk and forsaken. The issues they conversed about seemed greatly to concern a girl named Lucy and no matter how well meaning the tones, any potential eavesdropper couldn’t help but decide that the future of Lucy Aldaine was fraught with misfortune.  

Chapter Two 

Lucy gazed at the ground raptly; some quavering configuration of light shafts, grass blades, and lilacs captivated her: Each constituent seemed to exude an unearthly radiance. Equally pleasing, an aural accompaniment of rustled leaves and birdsong resounded throughout the meadow. The condition would have been perfect if not for the knife burrowing into the pot-bellied gut of the man a few feet away from her.  A woman’s and little girl’s screams - which mingled into a quite dissonant cacophony - cheapened the sight. She took up a distasteful look, then glared at her papa so he would return her the former ambiance. He smiled at her. 

“A’ight now, princess, I’ll be done in just a second.” Lucy couldn’t fathom why her papa was amused when he saw she was so upset. She deepened her frown and looked away. 

Markedly, as she gazed near the meadow’s horizon, she happened upon tendrils of brown that disturbed the green-scape. Lucy furrowed her brows; it was a curious thing. It was decided that the screams which were growing more hysterical and disruptive were now too prominent a feature to ignore: The fanciful surroundings had marred. She mused over the few options she’d assembled, then resolved she would fancy a walk away from the source of the upset. She stood up, sorted out the wrinkles in her dress, and set out toward the variant.  

“Oye!” called her papa, she froze. “I haven’t permitted you to go nowhere! Now look here, I’m willin’ to keep this short for you, but I ain’t bending over backwards to appease you.”  A dismissive hand gesture assured her of her permission to proceed. Lucy walked on.  

 As she drew nearer – her route nearly thwarted by a glory of purple delphiniums she came across – she spotted an eye peeking through the foliage. She paused briefly, ascertaining whether the eye could be an addition to the wildlife. A blink proved it was not. The eye widened, and the bundle of grass was suddenly thrown into disorder. Clumsily, (and after some time) a small boy had managed to crawl out. Lucy had perhaps a moments time to ponder this before he’d taken hold of her robes. She nearly went into a fit, if he were to tear her dress...  

The boy tugged, sparing no concern for the dress’s state, and pulled Lucy into the verdure. She fell into an unforgiving tuft of grass and silently cursed it for the bout of unpleasant sensations it brought on her cheek. She pulled herself onto her hands and knees with mind alit with frenzied thoughts. Her dress was surely in rags by now, a ghastly array of stubborn stains! She opened her mouth to scream, but the boy saw this and cupped his hand around her mouth. 

“Please,” The brown eyes widened even more so, “don’t do that!” Misgivings dawned in her chest, but she gathered herself, she felt no lack of fabric from where the boy had man-handled her robes. She blinked. The boy cautiously withdrew his hand, slow and awkward like he had just been caught doing something wrong. Lucy righted herself. She took in this boy. He was about her age, eight or nine, she decided. His hair presented itself in soft brown tresses, contrasting nicely to the light brown of his skin. She gave him a cross look and affirmed the condition of her attire. He assumed a sheepish expression, then looked down. “I’m sorry, I uh, I wasn’t being mindful.” He was thrown into sudden recollection of his mother's behavior around her ‘Sunday’s best’.  

“Evidently.” Lucy eyed him. His voice came in honeyed tones. She allowed herself to assess a bit more of the boy. His features were gentle. She discerned the tapered face shape, attentive of the narrowed chin that rounded, a pleasing contradiction. As her eyes drifted upwards, they hinged upon the eyes. They were large and bored shifting hues of mahogany and hazel. Framing his eyes, lashes fell long and sparse, curved as if conflicted with one another. When lowering her eyes to regard his attire, she took in a small knife loose and awkward in his front pocket. The boy picked up on this, and Lucy concluded that if he were able to, he’d redden. He began to stammer but Lucy cut him off. 

“Why do you have that?” It made no sense. The very air around him seemed dulcet, the sight of such a sharp object seemed an optical foil. She was well acquainted with the qualities that lay in those who kept knives about them. Her papa and those kindred to him managed leaden builds which trudged uncouthly, their speech was always husky, always brusque. This boy couldn’t contrast more, the knife looked amiss in his possession.  

“I – uh, well...” his voice trailed off as his gaze flickered to Lucy’s papa. She followed it.  

“Are you set on killing him?” Lucy inquired, thinking how the word kill was an exceptional clash against his aura. The sparkling eyes widened.  

“Well, I... he needs to be stopped.” The boy looked once more at Lucy’s papa, the woman and little girl were on the ground now, faces wrought and bodies maimed, their bodies jerked periodically. Lucy exhaled sharply; her papa was evidently not trying to keep his amusement to a minimum. The boy’s eyes hardened; his face fixed with determination. Suddenly though, alarm softened his features once more and he looked intensely at Lucy. “You were just with him right!? I meant to help you once I was through, did he steal you from home!?” Lucy pondered this, in a way he had. 

“I suppose,” Lucy ventured, “though he is my home now.” Lucy was oblivious to the boy’s confoundment as she surveyed the area around them. They were shrined from her papa behind a vertical tedium of grass, but past the uncharacteristic sod  there lay a small pond. Lucy enlivened at this, its emerald ripples were serene and the water’s edge was fringed with cardinals and cattails. She was just starting to marvel at this, but the boy’s voice interjected.  

“What do you mean he’s your home now?” Lucy frowned; she began to prepare a curt answer by mulling over which arrangement of words would get her faster to the small spring when a jarring voice took her from her thoughts.  

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Lucy! Hey something came up, we gotta go right now!” It was quite a day when Lucy could manage to be anything less than content for a third time. She heaved quite an expressive sigh, then called her answer.  

“I need five minutes!” she returned in a tone largely indicative of her mood. She then turned to the boy. “I will answer any questions you have as we sit at the pond.” It seemed in the boy’s best welfare to obey, for an icy chill had ferreted into the sweet voice. He nodded and they each took seats accordingly. Lucy had situated herself amid the cardinals and gazed at the pool as if she had been deprived her whole life of anything attractive. The boy had taken a seat next to her, shifting awkwardly about the bloom, and repeated himself. 

“What do you mean he’s your home?” Lucy’s eyes didn’t leave the pond, she stared intensely at it as she answered. 

“What I said.” It was the boys turn to sigh. “Why do you want to kill him?” Embarrassment took hold of his tongue once more. 

“I- well I didn’t say I did. I just want to stop his sprees of murder is all.”  

“By what means?” A long hesitance spanned over the interval of time between the inquiry and the answer.  

“I don’t know...by disabling him I guess.” Lucy looked as if she might turn to the boy, but she didn’t relent.  

“What’s your name?” The boy was taken aback, he had readied for more inspection.  

“Elijah, what’s yours?”  

“Lucy.” Now Lucy really did turn towards him. “Listen, I want to meet again and talk. I live off Cannour’s Lane, the only house that’s white. Come to the back of it through the woods – to the east window – and knock there. That’s my room.” She left him no chance to respond as she stood up and started towards her papa, leaving the disoriented boy in her midst.  

Lucy found herself lost pleasantly in reverie, for her window faced the backyard’s small field of flowers. She found her focus drawn to the small bed of asters that seemed to shy away from the others, whispering placidly amongst themselves. Though even with the view, Lucy couldn’t help being troubled. Her papa was leaving soon on further business, and Lucy was to be left in the care of Ms. Tippy. Lucy’s ideal reunion with Elijah placed her at her windowsill, gazing happily out into the plain, a sunny noon resting on the dwelling. Then, at the warble of a nearby bluebird, Elijah would come from out of the woods. He’d look to the east just as she had instructed, walk cordially over, tap lightly on the pane, and they’d discourse gayly. Lucy groaned at the wistful musing. Now he might indeed come – albeit in the afternoon –, look to the east, walk towards the directed window, be greeted with drawn curtains, and be discouraged from ever coming again. She agonized over the thought. She had begged, pleaded and fussed with her papa but it made no difference. Little did she know of the neighbors who regarded the smallest fault in decorum a scandal to be gossiped over. They’d be thrown into a frenzy if it were to get out that a nine-year-old had been left in the house alone. Suspicion would break, and a collective pry would arise. The last thing Joel needed was to be found out by a gang of prudish women.   

But, as she was in the dark,  she was simply perplexed. He was usually so amiable, so ready to please her. He had moved from his small apartment to the distinguished, white house with the efflorescent fields on her account. He’d supplied her room with the expensive, chiffon curtains which hung so daintily from their rods. He’d bought her the small antique birdcage with “holding metaphorical beauty” being the only volunteered reasoning. What was he being so disagreeable for? Lucy retired to the comforts of her bed spread, dramatically sprawled over the duvet, disheartened.   

She looked at the ivory walls of her room, at the accompanying daffodil of her curtains, at the idiomatical birdcage. She looked but she hardly marveled, for a thin veil had dropped before her soul. She sighed, then partook half-heartedly in the delight of the sunflowers that twined about the birdcage. Sunflowers were such frivolous, light hearted things. Their disposition contrasted greatly with her mood, and as she lied in her state of drear, she couldn’t help thinking how they seemed to mock her with their mirth. She had just finished deciding bitterly that they could only ever be pretty and of no real beauty when her papa knocked on the door. It was a harbinger of gray, she thought gravely, then moved to let in the inevitable.   

Lucy and Joel’s walk over to Ms. Tippy’s wasn’t a long one, and a one-sided rage seemed to hang in the air. Lucy satisfied herself by cherishing the environmental beauty around them, her eyes straying a good deal more than necessary, and she kept a fixed pace a good way behind her papa. However, all deterrent attempts fell to the will of arrival. Ms. Tippy was waiting jollily on her front porch, benevolent in stance and expression. She waved them over. Ms. Tippy was a woman who was in every way as frivolous and silly as her surname. She couldn’t be called plump but wasn’t anywhere near thin either; her elbows were dimpled however, and her ripened age had sagged her form. Her cheeks seemed perpetually rosy, and her black eyes danced, always awash in light spasms of trivial matters. Her lips were stretched thin and stern, though its corners took a predilection to turning upwards, and so her mouth was always a sort of strict entity which dually suggested a grin. Ms. Tippy took her self seriously, very seriously. Her chatter fell under the pretense of austere, but the matters in which she twitted about were ridiculously insignificant. It was as if she sheathed her frivolousness in an astringent skin, her true colors flushing radiantly beneath its binds. Joel extended his hand awkwardly; he had never quite grasped the knack of formality. Ms. Tippy took it earnestly however and had only eyes for Lucy. 

“Joel, a pleasure as always to be graced by your roguish handsomeness, you’re a refreshing sight in these parts I tell you.” Joel allowed a stiff smile and nodded. 

“Well then, must be off. Y’know...with work and things.” Ms. Tippy nodded importantly. 

“Yes of course, my grandmother always said, ‘work your way into a comfortable grave’. Now don’t worry about this here child, she’ll be in fine hands I assure you.” Joel nodded again, then turned to depart ungracefully. If Ms. Tippy was aware of Joel’s curt leave she didn’t show it. She smiled at Lucy. “Well then dear, come in now.”  

Ms. Tippy and Lucy made their way to the library. Ms. Tippy hadn’t uttered a word since the greeting on the front porch, and Lucy was just about to chalk her two-minute silence up to a personal record when she relapsed into a sudden burst of chatter.  

“Well I must say – and I do hate to say it – but that Joel leaves you alone entirely too much. I mean, always whisked away on some urgent business, expecting me to take you in all the while. You’d think all neighbors doubled as nannies with the way our dynamic carries on! Well, I am not a makeshift nanny nor your housekeeper! Frankly, I’m too cordial a neighbor that’s what.”  Ms. Tippy babbled more to herself than to Lucy, who was searching for an attractive book to start on. “What, does he think I have no busy schedule of my own? I have plenty to tend to and can’t be bothered with you all the time dear, I’m sorry but I just can’t!” She said this, though she in truth had abundant time to coddle Lucy. She adored the young observer and looked perpetually forward to Lucy’s next visit. It was a mystery what had occupied Ms. Tippy’s time and thoughts before making the acquaintance of Lucy. Lucy herself often invested in a good book when she stayed over; there was a large array of them fitted into the shelves of the library. Ms. Tippy was a widow, a fact that she profusely relayed to Lucy at frequent intervals, and her husband had been an English major. Lucy hadn’t much opinion of the widow, now less than ever as she mused over the scenario of Elijah at her window, saddened that there had been no answer to his knock. “You’re a dear bless your heart, but I truly do have demanding matters on my hands at all times – I'm a widow you know! So much falls on me and I have too small a chest to bear the weight.” Ms. Tippy concluded dismally, Lucy had just finished with the first page of a promising story. To her slight displeasure, the book had turned out to be a play. Despite this unfortunate feature, Lucy found herself happily awash in its imagery. As she followed along, the word garden struck an idea in her. 

“Ms. Tippy,” she started in her sweetest voice. 

“Yes dear?” 

“I was wondering if I could go out into the garden.” A mischievous fire was alit in her soul; it was a perfect plan. Claim to be in the garden when she’d really be near her window, lying in wait for Elijah. Lucy fought back a grin. 

“Oh, no. I have company coming over – real proper company mind you – can't have you soiling your robes right before.”  

“Oh, I would only look at the flowers, I won’t be anywhere near the dirt.” Lucy revised, but Ms. Tippy didn’t give the statement much thought. 

“No, no. Grass stains and such.” Lucy sagged and resigned herself to the fact that this day would refuse her of all her desires. Ms. Tippy saw her deject and softened. 

“Well now, Mrs. Chidings is bringing a girl about your age, I’ll send you both to the garden, that way I won’t have presented you sullied, and her child would be dirty as well for good measure.” It didn’t do much good for Lucy’s mood, but she supposed there was a chance in that. She was just returning woefully to the contents of her book when as if on que the doorbell sounded.  

“Heavens that’s them! And to think I don’t even have the tea started on! My, my, my this is a pretty kettle of fish! Leave the misfortune to the widow why don’t you?” Ms. Tippy’s tone grew more hysterical and her exclaims of my accumulated as she neared the door. Lucy was now too full of dolor to read, she instead listened to the muffled conversation coming from the front door.  

“Evelyn! Oh, how lovely to see you again. And – well as I live and breathe – Katie Maurice you’ve grown into a handsome young lady!” Lucy heard a stern, icy voice correct 

“Katlyn.” Footsteps drew nearer and soon the party was in Lucy’s midst. 

“Evelyn, Katlyn, let me introduce you to this darling, Lucy. Now, I’d like the both of you to get acquainted in the garden – yes Evelyn I assure you there is very little dirt of the kind that would spoil Katlyn’s robes there.” Ms. Tippy hastened at the disagreeable expression and opening of Mrs. Chidings mouth. Mrs. Chiding closed her mouth, though she didn’t look entirely persuaded. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Well then, take a seat next to me now don’t stand all stiff and uncomfortable, goodness honey I haven’t even had a second to start on the tea!”  

Lucy and Katlyn obediently set out to the garden. They each took a seat amid the stocks, and Lucy sized up her playmate. She found hair as raven as her own long and down, perhaps not as tidy as Lucy’s own hair, and not – upon deeper inspection – as ebony either. In the sunlight brown hues sprang forth in distinguished mahogany.  Her eyes were full of spright despite their black tone, and she was sweet lipped with their tint red. As soon as each girl was situated, Katlyn burst into discourse. 

“Well you’re awfully pretty you are, and I do love your dress. A most pretty pale blue, I fear my mother's dressed me in the ghastliest of robes. I mean, concord. Purple is the most dreadful color wouldn’t you agree?” The descant came out in a rush. The girl’s liveliness penetrated to Lucy’s very bones, and amid Katlyn's mannerly face, a great expressiveness had broken out. Her intonation was refined and proper despite the vigor ringing through it, Lucy took a moment to recover 

“Purple fares lovely in nature I feel,” she said a bit defensively, then upon reflection she recalled the ugly purple curtains Ms. Tippy had once possessed, how much of an eye sore the color had been then. This memory disturbed her to her core, “though its beauty might be confined to nature alone.” she faltered.  

“Well you have a tongue on you, you do! Well, but you must agree it is most unbecoming on me at least. Also, do call me Katie, my mother has a certain inclination for dreadful choices. She’s quite cross but never mind her, you must just resign yourself to call me Katlyn in her midst. Goodness, has a plainer name ever reached your ears? Oh, here's another one, Maurice, I do wonder how she manages to think up such dreadful handles. She must have a time of it that’s for sure.” This time, Lucy had braced herself for the vivacious torrent that tore from Katie’s lips. There was a good amount of information in the relay, Lucy didn’t quite know where to start her response. She decided to in turn introduce herself.  

“I’m Lucy.”  

“Oh, what a fine name! I had hoped of course that you’d have a nice, suitable name. I don’t think I could have bared it if you were to have as horrible a name as Maurice, no I’d boil right over I would. Once I meant a cousin whose name was Francine Lildomere, I tell you I half covered my ears every time someone would say her name. It’s really quite a pity as she seemed a nice person I’d be able to get along with. And a pretty girl she was too. But it must be lovely to own such a name, oh how it suits you! You’re very prim at a first glance, but now that I’m really looking at you, you seem to hold a depth to you. Oh, I really don’t know how to explain it, I’m simply awful at explaining things.” Lucy wondered how a girl who talked so profusely couldn’t in all her verbosity express exactly what she meant. Still, she found herself enjoying the chorus of lively inflections, and as a person of reticence she was glad she needn’t talk much in her presence. “Oh, please out with it!” Lucy was taken aback. “You’re thinking something profound I just know it! I can see you have a way with words, though I may be a dunce myself of translating my emotions I can tell you just exceed at it!” Lucy blinked. 

“I was only looking at the garden.” Katie dismayed. 

“No, what exactly were you thinking when you looked at the garden?” Lucy thought, she wasn't in the practice of disclosing her thoughts.  

“I just like the way the sunbeams dance in the belt of irises over there.” She pointed chin in the direction of her focus. If Katie allowed too much expression in her babble, Lucy certainly granted too little, for her tone always bordered on monotony, livened only by her sweet voice and prim cadence. Katie fixed her face with such intensity that Lucy couldn’t help but look away. 

“You must speak your thoughts aloud more often.” A small expanse of comfortable silence spanned in which Lucy stared further still at the irises. “Lucy, you are the very embodiment of proper. Your posture is ever so erect, your chin is always slightly aerial, and your hands are folded neatly though we’re sitting turk-like in the grass. But I must say, your eyes hold a soul in them that sort of lights the rest of you up from the inside, and they always seem so bored with whatever's happening, so they turn to wander in a world that isn’t this one” Katie paused, “a nonmaterial world, that’s it! They always seem so distant.”  Katie brightened, pleased with herself. “Well, I think I did a just job at putting my feelings into words. I had to think on it a moment I did. I don’t know how you do it, of course we’ve only just gotten acquainted and I haven’t truly heard your feelings put into words, but I have an inkling you can manage it marvelously.” The hurried dispatch in which Katie communicated had grown easier to comprehend, and Lucy’s troubles with Elijah had ebbed slightly at listening to Katie.  

Lucy indulged in the airborne dandelions that drifted along as if they were windblown sprites, pallid and fine amid the blue haze. Her eyes roved over hills and budding ferns that uncoiled hesitantly. Halcyon sunlight pooled in the garden and mildly bathed the encircling foliage, the afternoon was as lovely and sunny as Lucy had dreamed it to be. As she beheld the area around her, her eyes fell on the fringing woodlands of her yard, a great deal of yards away. Discontent returned to her heart and Katie – who had been on a rather tedious tangent about the many atrocities of grapes – fell silent at her change in mood. 

“Lucy - oh I really wanted to add in your middle name too but I hadn’t asked it, so I shall reconcile myself to inquire after, but what’s troubling you?” Lucy heaved a sigh that lamented a sorrow of all the ages.  

“I was set on waiting for someone today.” 

“Was?”  

“Yes, but fate seems against it.” 

“Well, who!?”  Katie inquired, her eyes widening at the situation’s tragedy. 

“A boy I met.” Katie was in a right state. 

“A boy! Oh, more tragic still, why can’t you meet him?”   

“There’s a perpetual augment of obstacles” One couldn’t fathom a more mirthful beam than the one Katie exulted at Lucy’s depressed proclamation.  

“Oh Lucy, this is why I’m so fond of you. See, you introduce to me wonderous words like augmenting. I have only the slightest idea of what it means presently but oh how I mean to learn. And what a situation to be in, why, I feel inclined to help you!” Lucy’s heart gave a queer flutter.  

“How?” 

“First tell me what obstacle stands in your way of comradeship.” Katie declared importantly. 

“Well, I’ve asked him to meet me at my window at home, but I’m here and not allowed to go to my house, it’s many houses down from this one.” Lucy directed her gaze to the window that looked out into the garden from the library, where Ms. Tippy and Mrs. Chiding chatted. Katie pondered this for a moment.  

“I’ve got an idea.” Hope arose in Lucy’s chest. 

“What?” 

“You go to your house; I’ll cover for you. From what I’ve just heard from Ms. Tippy you’re exceptionally well-behaved and she wouldn’t suspect a thing. I on the other hand would be sought out right away if I was discovered missing, even your superior disposition would only last a moment before my mother gets to thinking I’ve compromised your nature.” Katie rose and importantly faced the direction of Lucy’s house,“Yes, if it’s you gone I can say you’ve gone to draw water, or went to return a stray cat to a neighbor’s, I’m positively sure they’d believe me.” Lucy stood up now, adjudging that perhaps she’d been too quick to decide on this day’s quality.  

“That sounds fine.” Lucy smiled, Katie smiled back. 

“Yes, but as soon as you see him, you’ll have to return soon with him, I don’t want them getting suspicious.”  

“Okay.” Lucy fidgeted with her dress’s hem, a nervous tick.  “I’ll be off then.” Katie’s smile widened. 

“Lucy middle-name-to-be-inquired, I hadn’t the slightest idea that you were capable of such trouble under all that primness.” Lucy returned the grin and turned to depart.  

“I haven’t got one, but my last name’s Aldaine.” With that, she set off 

It was a wonder how detailed and vehement of a foreboding air the woodlands could exude when one walked alone beside them. A crepuscular atmosphere seemed imprisoned in the boscage and its shadows extended outwards, dallying in Lucy’s general proximity. She couldn’t walk through the actual neighborhood for risk of getting lost. Her journey beset by the flank of forest and houses simplified her course, sparing her from the winding network of cul-de-sacs and intersections and dead ends. Lucy tried to seek comfort in the notion that the opposing lines of manors and woods were shepherding her, ensuring her to her destination. It hadn’t worked.  

With ears hypersensitized to any potential dangers, Lucy first jumped at a leaf skimming her shoulder, then nearly fossilized after breaking a stick. When the time came that she heard a light echo of footsteps not far behind her, she superiorly dismissed it. When her paranoia mounted however, she halted regressively. A slight delay of her two footfalls sounded distantly and her fingers flew to one of her dress’s hems. She inhaled and collected herself, conjointly stilling the flood of hypotheticals. She whirled around. No apparent fiend was in view. She squinted and scanned, studying the edge of the area she’d heard the sound coming from. After a while she was subjected to look into the forest, where she knew in her heart she had heard the dreaded footsteps. Nothing unordinary materialized at a first glance, then, a primrose wisp glinted from behind a tree. She took quite a while gathering a courage that must have been scattered few and far between, then, she strode towards the tendril, channeling her fear into appearing confident. When she reached the suspected tree, the wisp absconded, retreating behind the bark. Lucy balled her fist and promptly stepped behind the tree.  

A boy of about six came into view. He was excessively scrawny, and short even for his age. As she sized him up, she discovered that the extreme, pale blond of his hair had been the indicator of his presence. She quickly recognized she towered over him and used this to her advantage. 

“Why are you following me?” A genuine pureness reposed in his features. He blinked, keeping silent. Lucy decided to resort to violence to encourage his divulgence and a small jab was accordingly deployed to his shoulder. The boy stumbled back but steadied himself with the tree. “Who are you?”  

“Collin.” He finally chirped. He didn’t seem scared or threatened, which Lucy took as a sort of offence.  

“Why are you following me?” She repeated more emphatically, his lack of alarm moving her to irritation.  

“I can’t tell you...” He stared directly into her eyes and said in a whisper, more to himself. “You’re one of the special ones.” Unease curdled in her gut. 

“What do you mean?” He removed a fawn eyelash from his cheek and consequently scrunched up his eye a little, giving Lucy the impression that he was winking at her. She couldn’t disguise her disgust. 

“Well I can’t say, but it's not children so this isn’t a game.” Collin swung his arms minutely, suddenly aware of their static state and unknowing of what to do with them. Lucy, he had decided, seemed innocuous so far. “Hey!” He started to whisper, “I just got an idea, can you help us? If you agree to that I’ll tell you whatever.” Lucy contemplated this. She didn’t feel particularly moved to help him, but was inclined to learn his motives, what a group of adults could possibly want of her, and if this was all even true in the first place. Then her thoughts divagated, Elijah... the window; being punctual, making it before being back before Ms. Tippy and Mrs. Chidings doubted the innocence in her absence. She decided. 

“Fine, but we’ll have to meet later and discuss. For now, stop following me.” His eyes widened. 

“But I can’t, I was sent to inspect you.” Lucy grew somewhat impatient as she considered all that was at stake. 

“Well then pretend. Go off doing something else and say you were watching me all the while.” The boy pondered this.  

“I don’t know...if I get found out I’ll get real punished.” 

“Then don’t get found out. Look if you’ve been following me, I assume you know where I live so you can find me when needed?” Collin hesitated, assembling a loose basis of the definition of assume by her context.  

“I s’pose, but-”  

“Good, then do that.” She turned to leave; Collin dallied behind the tree. “I’ll know if you’re still following me!” She called, then quickened her pace to a run.