Beneath the gleaming Lumilillies that hung from the underworld's ceiling, I stood face to face with an angel. Her quivering, rose-colored eye reflected the cobalt hues of light, watching as I rummaged through her garbage. She was young, around seventy-five years old, the same age as I was then. Her beautiful, smooth skin gleamed like a violet moon; her elegant, silver hair was tied on opposite ends, tucked behind her long, pointed ears, and resting on her shoulders. I remember hearing her sweet voice for the first time; it was music to my ears despite sounding like complete and utter gibberish.

“Ul’pegu Zu," she told me. Twas my first interaction in Dvorttalian territory; my first time hearing the language they’d come up with after our people separated into two. I knew it was dangerous for me, a Svakkalian, to venture past our borders but the odds of finding a meal were worth the danger— everything in Svakkal had been pillaged long ago after the war. It was pillage or starve; yet, I found myself more entranced with the girl than the loaf she presented with delicate hands. There was a look of pity in her eyes. From her perspective, I was a lost pup rummaging through her rubbish. “Howu’yah. C’xuogu. Iae ofu Tebsfi, iug?” she asked me; her voice's inflection was curious. She stepped a toe closer, bringing the loaf within arm’s reach.

I was hesitant to accept her offering; her people and mine were adversaries. Is it poisoned? Could she be luring me into a trap; to become her father’s slave or housepet? I wish I knew what she was saying, I thought. Nonetheless, my stomach answered for me, roaring like a rabid wolf at the sight of food. The captivating angel gifted me a warm smile with a gap at its center, exhaling rhythmically as she suppressed her snickers. “R’faz H’tu Gaeb’q ar yah, iae ofu. Tufu, yah yag r’fugt,” she said through her laughter, gesturing the bread toward me, but I remained unmoved.

Her smile paralyzed me, and as I stood motionless, she placed the loaf wrapped in cloth atop a stone. “Iae pob h’fegh zu,” I heard her say; her hand lay atop her heart with sincerity as she spoke. “Y toju ba deoxz’g k’ayht Svakkalians," So she knows. Yet her pointed finger lacked any malice; it was as gentle as her voice. “Yar yah kufu ec ha zu, h’tayg g’hecyaq kof nuhuub Svakkal obuq Dvorttal kaexiq ubuq… Iae pob pazu hazaffak. Ku toju c’xubuhi,” she dismissed herself; I couldn't utter even a syllable.

As if petrified to stone, I watched her retreat up the wooden steps of her stone home; she stopped, taking one last glance at me. A smile rested on her face, a toothless one but a smile nonetheless. She lifted her gentle hand and that hand waved to me. “Saaq’bysuth.”

The door shut and I snatched the bread as if I’d pillaged it before disappearing into the darkness.

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I was alone inside a dank cavity, hidden by a wall of vines. It was where I lived after my family had been killed, but I wouldn’t call it a home; it was barely large enough to lie in. The bread was in my hand then, still wrapped in cloth. I was afraid to eat, still having ill thoughts about the Dvorttalian. She can’t have followed me– unless this cloth has been enchanted with a tracking spell. I should have disposed of it.

My starved stomach rumbled as if to tell me if I were to hesitate any longer, it would begin consuming itself. I had no other choice. I unwrapped the Dvorttalian bread and took just one small bite. That instant, I could feel my eyes growing wide, any wider and they would have rolled from their sockets. This is– incredible, I thought. Before I could swallow the first bite, I took another. The bun, as soft as a cloud, stretched as I pulled it with my teeth. It’d been so long since the last time I experienced bread that didn’t crumble as if I were eating dry soil or was covered in mold. With each bite, the lilac-skinned elf transformed closer to a goddess in my mind.

I might’ve fallen in love with her right then.

That night, I dreamt of her. There was no war then– only clouds that appeared as bread, and she and I were dancing atop them. Our dance was perfect, despite my experience and having the coordination of a newborn wildebeest. I imagined what her voice would sound like if she’d spoken my language; her soft voice made my heart flutter with every syllable. When I awoke from this dream, I wanted nothing more than for it to become my reality, though the clouds made of bread weren’t a necessity. I returned to her home that night and there she was, already waiting for me with more bread wrapped in cloth. Upon seeing her again, I felt a strange, paralyzing fear. For a moment, I camouflaged in shadows as she waited on the wooden steps of her home. All I could do was gaze wantingly at her solemn face.

As I watched her, I pondered why she appeared so pained. She was a Dvorttal elf, living in a modest home with what I assumed to be her family and a full stomach. I decided to reveal myself; as I emerged from the shadows, that solemn expression faded, her eyes beamed and her lips formed the gentlest of grins. “Iae pozu,” her voice was hushed, just as it was the night prior– this time, there was a sense of relief.

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I cautiously approached her. This time, she brought the bread closer to me, placing it in my hands herself. “Y q’yaq bah nuxyuju abu kog ubaest, ga Y k’foccuq h’ku ar h’tuz yab h’tyag p’xaht raf Iae. Zi oca’xasyug,” she spoke her gibberish again. I stared back at her blankly as if I were brainless.

I have to talk to her this time. Perhaps she knows the common language as well, I thought. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time anyone fed me,” I said. The moment she heard my voice, she looked at me with the same dumbfounded expression I imagine I must have looked at her with when she first spoke to me. Just as her words were gibberish in my ears, my words were nothing more than scrambled nonsense to hers. “Iae w’bak Common g’cuow?”

Did she say Common something? Common Language, I thought.

“Yes?” I nodded; even though she couldn’t understand my words, this gesture must have been universal. The lilac-skinned elf slowly stepped toward me, grabbing my hands and inspecting the dirt atop them. “k’tufu toju iae ha su?” Again, she spoke with the cadence of one asking a question, but I couldn’t understand a syllable. All I knew was that she was dirtying herself by touching me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” I pointed to my sharp ears, shaking my head in denial; hoping she would understand that I don’t speak Dvorttalian, or whatever it was called.

She exhaled in frustration; not at me, but at the fact that we couldn't communicate. The next thing I knew, she placed her finger on my chest. “Iae.” She said just that one single word, one that I recognized from the flurry of gibberish she spoke to me. It must be a common word. You, I thought. She joined the tips of her fingers, creating a pointed shape with her hands. “Tazu?”

Tazu? An arrowhead? Mountain? I tried my best to understand, but none of these words seemed appropriate within the current context of our conversation. “I’m sorry.” I once again shook my head, pointing to my ear. Once more, she appeared frustrated and soughed– it was an adorable one, more like a hum.

“Tazu,” her voice was a tinge less gentle. She pointed to her home.“Tazu," she said, placing her finger atop my chest. “Iae," she whispered, joining her fingertips again. "Tazu."

Do I have a home?

I shook my head. “I do not. No Tazu. I live in a–” I caught myself; she wouldn't understand. Instead, I took both of my hands and formed a circular shape. “Cave. No Tazu. Cave.”

Her shoulders lowered, along with her ears. The way she looked at me, it was as if she felt sorry for me. It was reminiscent of the moment she found me rummaging. “Ku toju o g’cofu faaz." Frantic hand motions accompanied her verbiage; her building frustration was visible. She grabbed my hand and began dragging me into her home.

I don't understand why, but I did not fight it.

If she were leading me to my death, so be it.

The moment I stepped inside, I was reminded of what it was like to feel the warmth of an enclosed space. I hadn’t noticed until then, but my body had been in a perpetual state of trembling due to the nipping cold; the trembling ceased once the door was shut behind me. She pointed to my chest again. “Iae,” she said; her delicate finger slid from my chest and pointed toward the wooden floor. “Tazu.”

This...This place is my home? Is that what she's telling me, I wondered.

I couldn’t believe that a Dvorttalian– of all people– was offering me refuge; it was almost too good to be true. She could be a temptress, a Dvortallian spy attempting to reveal the location of a Svakkalian sanctuary through me. Well, the joke is on you, lady! I haven’t any knowledge of any sanctuary! Despite anticipating her betrayal, half of myself trusted her. Those kind eyes of hers, maternal in nature, seemed incapable of deception.

First, she allowed me to bathe. I’d forgotten the color of my skin; it’d been so long since I was last properly cleaned. I remember seeing the clean young man in my reflection; I nearly shed tears. No longer was my skin tainted by dirt, its blackish-violet hue was restored. Still overgrown, my hair had been washed and returned to its silver color. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw myself, but that boy from before had long been dead. The light in my eyes, once ever present, had vanished– even having a clean body didn’t restore it.

I was greeted by a bowl of stew resting on the dining room table. I could see steam emanating from it, a sight long forgotten after what seemed like eons of living in caves eating cold scraps. Once the piping hot concoction of gamey meat and vegetables graced my tongue, I could no longer hold back my tears. “Thank you,” I could barely speak these words without breaking down. As if my tear ducts and hers were connected, puddles formed beneath her eyes. Despite having no understanding of one another, she understood how much being cleaned and fed meant to me.

“Iae pob toju og zept og iae x’yawu,” she told me, accepting my thanks.

After supper had ended, she showed me the way to the attic. It was in between two bedrooms, one that I presumed to be hers, and another that likely belonged to the head of the household. “G’cofu faaz,” she said, pointing to the hatch above before pulling on the string and revealing a wooden ladder. She began climbing into the dark abyss, and I of course followed.

Is this where the dream, the facade of this kind soul, ends? I thought to myself as I climbed behind her. There were rumors that Dvorttalians would eat Svakkalians, though I believed those to be nothing more than fairytales so we wouldn’t stray away as younglings.

Nonetheless, those fairytales were in the back of my mind.

Perhaps she cleaned and fed me so my flesh was more palatable. The girl reached the top of the ladder and disappeared into the darkness. I was near the summit of the abyss; my heart was racing and I could feel myself trembling, not from the cold, but from the fear of the unknown.

When my head passed through the void, and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I found myself somewhere unexpected.