Purple Street's Majesty

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The porch swings as the wind chimes tune their pipes, preparing for the soiree to begin. Lounging lazily astride the banister, her back rested against the house while she waits. The streetlights flickered like neon signs on corner store windows, a beacon to gather nightlife and quietly advertise their wares. Tiny mushroom like fungi appeared on the trees lining the street as little fair ones came out and plopped down the spotted tops until they reached ground below.

Each one dressed in natural materials strewn about, clothed in a garish mix of cloth and woodland scraps, no look was the same. She had seen one or two that went above and beyond, a top of acorn hulls with vines and leaves as a dress skirt. Her favorite was the one in a shift of red rose petals with crushed quartz reflecting the moonlight, high and pure.

The breeze was soothing as the affair began, a low whistle cresting through the trees as the tiny dancers began to move in whirling sways. The sky colored majestic and she sat sketching peacefully. A few younger sprites sat giggling at the way her long, human leg swung, to and fro while she perched, content to record that night’s festivities and ignore their chittering.

It was commonplace that in the last seventy years the Titania and Oberon changed part of their stance on Fae/ Human relations. It was overdue if the newly acquired chimes and bells had been any indication, not to mention the way all the families had offering stones near the common entrance. Now, the rolling and twinning clouds made rumbling like drums as they counted in the chimes. The party began…

Last night was more of a distant memory as she woke up flat on the porch floor, wrinkles and wire of the sketch pad made incoherent roadmaps on her skin of toasted almonds. As the skies bled pink and coral blue of early morning, jade and hazel eyes squinted harshly at the light reflecting off the partially hidden Moon. Remnants of the Wisteria Soiree were seen being cleared up by goblins pushing carts with rickety wheels that squeaked with every inch pushed on. Humanoid cleaning crews removed the mushrooms for harvest as they lingered around the tree.

Bones creaked like settled floors; each sturdy but made plenty of protest when moved without reason. Drawing up to her full, seated height, she looked at how she must have smudged the drawing with her skin in her sleep. Stretching as she stood up, art materials gathered, she went into the house. Pausing in the kitchen, she grabbed a fresh biscuit and the honey jar before moving back in the living room where the house altar was. Quick but efficiently, the altar was cleaned, and new offerings placed in the center with care before returning to the kitchen for herself.

Taking in the scene from last night, she felt energized for the coronation in two days time. It had been on the news the Upper Fae Court had needed to choose a new Oberon and Titania to lead this new Ceresdian Millennium. They had been in Celestial Seclusion until the Upper, Median and Lower Courts agreed with the candidates. When the candidates were chosen, they underwent a series of trials to prove themselves.

In class, teachers spoke about how the trials verified their ability to rule fairly, act swiftly but with reason, stand firm when nothing is stable, bow when grace is demanded, and dance in the face of madness with celestial tranquility in their ether.

Ailaine knew that she didn’t meet the requirements by the whole calm in the face of craziness. She had full anxiety attacks while cleaning. It always sent her reeling when she cleaned up the things she knew had a place and was left with things that didn’t. It was the reason she added the house altar. She made offerings and asked that the ones that minded her dwelling please help lost items find a home where they may enjoy the energy and peace they created.

She would leave the small items on a surface below the altar and attend to the rest of her day. At night she would find the pile moved but her eyes would spot the items in places she would never think to look or shelve them. Since it worked out for both parties, she always thanked them for their blessings by leaving them fresh fruit and tea cut in tiny portions and in shallow pans for easy enjoyment.

Watching as the candidates were talked about, getting details about each as they completed the various trails with learning pass or fail, not learning if they will be chosen to lead or if they are to serve the courts just as well. Ailaine sipped at her tea as she tried to smooth out the rough sketch that was became her impromptu pillow. The sun filtering thought the window brought her eyes to the figures on the page.

There was a taller leafling with gauze like strips fashioned into a flowing skirt of pale silvers and soft white. Her willowy upper body had sweet baby’s breath fastened together like a polka dotted top with shoulders embraced by the moon’s lunar warmth. Locks of raven hair that was piled in intricate loops had caught her eyes as the being moved with poise and soft sweeps. The leafling’s expression was that of serene glow at the festivities taking place around her, but she carried herself as if she sat a top of a throne watching as her kind celebrated the prosperity.

Hazel eyes grabbed the sketch and raked over it with a stunned but intense gaze. She didn’t recall seeing the fairy in that much clarity, yet the image she held said otherwise. The ticking from the wall clock drew her as she cursed and chugged the still hot tea and crammed a pear in her mouth before dashing upstairs.

From outside, if you walked past, various curses and clanging could be heard. Closely followed, banging and the sounds of things falling made the passersby pause and watch with curiosity and trepidation. Shortly after the noises stopped abruptly, a door flew open and a humanoid figure dashed out with what appeared to be bronze coils following like a banner. The skies overhead floated pale, avocado green clouds in the indigo skies as the sun warmed everything its rays touched. The winds seemed to dance and weave in between the pale shifts of brilliance her feet carried her to her art class a few blocks from her home.

The building had was a brick monstrosity with tons of glass windows to let in natural light to the various classrooms. The structure contained very little cold iron as it was dangerous to the fae that attended the classes as models and students. Ailaine sat in a seat close to the window but near enough to the aisle that she could exit without interrupting the other students. Black gaming headphones tucked into her hair like an extension of self as they helped her disassociate with the other students. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them or want to get to know them. She was usually friendly as she got to know you but many would never guess she was painfully shy. Always accused of keeping a permanent scowl on her face without trying usually didn’t help matters, but she really had no clue what her face did on most days. It was something she had on her yearly resolution list. Things to fix or work on beginning in spring of that year; she still had time for that.

Watching as people starting trickling in the room like bees to a hive, one person caught her eye. They were tall. Easily, the person was around six and a half feet tall and towered over the rest of the class, seeming to narrowly miss scrapping their head on the doorframe upon entry. They appeared to be of male origin but one never was one hundred percent sure with the fae court unless they donned the traditional robes of the court. The locks of hair were a loose fall of navy with subtle plum undertones streaming in the waves like wisps of smoke from a pipe. The eyes though! Their eyes were a blinding shade of white; blank as freshly fallen snow on the highest mountain. At first she was concerned with the assumed lack of vision until they moved with a grace legendary to their lineage. She felt heat flood her face as the being took smooth, purposeful strides toward the area she sat, half afraid her face would spontaneously combust and nothing but headphones and her overactive brain would remain.

“Might I use this seat for the remain of this drawing class?” The voice was low and velvet as it coiled around like a charm, enticing and soothing as it unraveled secrets the owner didn’t know the knew. Her mouth worked but no sound left as her grandmother’s voice flickered across her mind. Little lamb, think before you speak. Your words have weight and may be more than you can lift or afford to carry. She quickly shook her head and gestured to the seat before taking a low, shaky breath to settle her nerves some.

“Mayhaps the seat give itself to you on loan until this art class has seen its fall grade.” She noticed the pale eyes were a shade of gray that mimicked the Moon at nightfall. A far, they were stark and uncomfortably unusual, but up close, there were various icy blues and watery lavender swirling in the depths that made them breathtaking. They widened as a small smile formed on the soft lips the hue of pink lemonade candy. The upper lip was thin with a deep Cupid’s bow and a full bottom lip that hinted at a sinful pout if she could imagine it.

Mossy green eyes watched as the character sat in the chair and unwound the portfolio they carried. Slowly, the slender fingers drew papers from the brown bindings and she couldn’t help be stare. There were drawings in shades of brown that made the picture look aged and well worn with time and season. Each one that was unveiled more lovely than the last. Some looked to be of the lands surrounding the Fairy Courts; lands rumored to be more beautiful than any Midland Garden, naturally formed or man curated. The work had lush foliage with detailed blades of grass that seems to sway lazily in the enchanted winds. In the distance was what looked to be a wading pool or pond that carried soft ripples on the surface. She almost felt like the image had the power to pull her in and feel the sun warm her tawny flesh like a friendly caress.

“From where pantheon do you hail?” opalescent eyes blinked wide as it considered her question’s phrasing. With a subtle nod, she felt the goosebumps rise on her skin when her table mate replied a soft “Pallascian”. His eyes seemed to consider if he should question in kind but was unsure how to ask. Sensing his uncertainty, her sweeter alto carried to him. “The pantheon of Pax claims me.”

Shortly the after the normal awkward introductions, the instructor had them share two of their favorite works with their table partner. They were to give critic on what they liked, what were elements they would change and rough sketch a piece to compliment their table mates. It would grow to be part of their final project.

Their eyes met as they both took a moment to choose their favorites before trading. In Ailaine’s hand was the sketch from the soiree the night before and an image that haunted her dreams. It was a tower built of iron and thorn that sat in clouds high above the lands. The grounds sprawled across the voluminous sky as it seemed that sunlight was afraid to cross paths with the structure. Rare bramble grew down the structure and wound in the skyward grasses like snakes coiling in a den.

Each time this dream came to her, she saw it from a different angle and it never got better. There was no entrance and only what looked to be scarred and damaged iron panels covering what may have been an entrance at one time. She always wondered what would be hidden in a structure like that. Was it a hoard of treasure or a lonely princess waiting for rescue? It was never revealed to her in all the years she dreamt it. Handing over the images, Ailaine gently grabbed the offerings from him hand, taking further look at the first one that caught her eye. She noted that while the image was beautiful and had dynamic use of shading to create depth and rich texture, it felt cold. She felt the sun in the image but the chill of the wind rippling the water and jostling the grass held an ominous bite that she didn’t notice at first.

“By what calling do you respond to Paxcian?” His voice cut like steel to her warmth as his brilliant eyes turned tumultuous in rage and shock. His hands each gripping the table in a white knuckled grip as he shook his lowered head, breathing slowly to try and reign in his emotions. Her eyes were large as she fought for proper wording but struggled as her mind tried to piece together what went wrong so fast.

“I… I am called Jade by my eye color. What error struck like quicksilver in a nest of Brownies, for offence was farthest from this work’s intention?” She watched as his hand slid both drawings back closer to her. She heard the shuddering breath as he tried valiantly to calm his response so he could explain. She waited patiently because she needed him to explain what occurred; needed to know how her nightmare brought to paper could invoke such anger.

“What know of the Chironic Accord, Paxcian?” She shook her head negatively as she turned to face him without meeting constant eye contact.

“To Upper and Lower Courts, when mischievous becomes ill-sport, gavel swings and Chiron’s law rings until Justice due shall raise high and sing. Three by Three by thrice penance is received, cold iron and thorny cast shackle high the false aggrieved. When lands of the courts were young, the Titania be called Veraphina was ruler of the Upper Court. Grace, compassion, and intelligence be her Ceresdian blessing. Perhaps chance a Lokinian prince was set to wed from Lower Courts for union most favored. Violet night skies came from dawn to dusk, order reigned to discord as blood returned to lands nourishment of the innocent. Crimes upon the Titania fell consort to Chiron’s law and justice enacted three by three by thrice, incased in cold that burns and wood that no longer speaks the Midland songs. Perchance, time of twenty-seven thousand moons have passed. For one of the courts, such time is a suggestion, not a code of practice yet one would still show dalliances with time.” She listened in rapt attention as she took time to process his words. The speech similar to common Fae but with a dialect ancient and long since used. He took her picture then of the Titania and slid it forward.

“If time has left its mark and justice has not been fulfilled, mayhaps you can gather speech to why pray tell has the Grand Ruler, Titania Veraphina looks untouched by the sands? Might you speak to how one of Fae blood escapes a prison built in the very material that severs life and sanity? Mayhaps you speak to how one that has no Fae lineage, has The Sight to see what no Seer can see?” as he took a breath, her eyes met his frost covered diamond orbs and felt trapped in their gaze.

“Mayhaps Paxcian called Jade, you can tell me, Oberon Quartzir of the Upper Court, why my Paxcian sister is virginal by time’s touch and visits your dreams with my nightmares from the Cold Tower of Accord where she should still reside?

At that moment, the purple of last night should have been a warning to her; an omen to remain home. She should’ve listened.