#rennalyss

[naivariasunspell]

It was a bright, sunny day–the kind that most people spent outdoors to enjoy the weather.  For Rennalyss that might have been the case, but for Sinaeryn and Naivaria it was not.  Mother and daughter were inside the dress shop, and on days like this when business was somewhat slow–a rarity for the Sunspell Spindleworks–they worked on a very important and very secret mother-daughter project.

“Which fabric were you thinking for the skirt, Nai?” Sinaeryn asked, her head swiveling as the six-year-old girl riffled through bolts on the other side of the table. “This… one…” she grunted, tugging on a roll that just didn’t seem to want to budge.  When it finally did, several others came out with it and she fell back onto her back with a great crashing noise, covered in fabrics of several different colors and textures.  No one ever said that Naivaria had been a particularly graceful little girl, and as her mother rose from her seat to check out the commotion a concerned crease found her brow before Naivaria held up a small hand and announced, “I’m ‘kay!” Laughter echoed throughout the studio, first Naivaria’s giggles and then Sinaeryn’s own resultant chuckling before her mother simply said, “I don’t know if we can work all of those colors in!  Some of these colors simply do not go well together.  Do you want your sister to look like a bum?” Nai seemed to consider this for a moment while she lay there, her giggles having subsided for only a few moments before she started up again.  “Yes!” “Naivaria!” Sinaeryn exclaimed with a degree of disbelief in her tone. “I’m just kidding, Minn’da,” she said, and then shifted around until she had grasped a blue-green shimmering roll of fabric and held it aloft triumphantly.  “This one!” “Oh, yes!  That will go with the blue and that thread-of-gold quite well!” Sinaeryn replied, bending down to take the other rolls off of her daughter and replace them beneath the table.  “Now put that one on the table with the other,” she urged with a little poke to the girl’s side, and with a squeal Naivaria jumped to her feet, did a couple laps around the table and then put the roll next to the other blue one she had picked out. “Renna’s gonna love it, Minn’da!” Nai proclaimed, leaning her forearms against the table as she watched her mother come around to continue measuring.  The smile on Sinaeryn’s face was enough to confirm Nai’s statement.

[naivariasunspell]

Role Models

PROMPT:

Regardless of the positivity or negativity that one encounters during their childhood, there are usually always memories that shine the brightest in someone’s memory, a time when as a child they were happy. Write a scene about a happy memory from their childhood. Alternatively, if they truly do not have a real memory, write a scene about a daydream they may have had that was a happy moment for them.

The Sunspell Spindleworks was filled with bright afternoon sunlight.  It shimmered off of fabrics of every imaginable color and texture, off of bodices and skirts, tunics and trousers.  The mannequins in the front window were dressed in their best (with the exception of the one that Naivaria had expertly tacked a small felt moustache to) and the shop smelled of freshly waxed wood and lilacs.  Naivaria had squeezed herself underneath a rack that held an array of fabrics.  She had managed to drape one of the sheer blue reams in such a way that it obscured her presence, though her little feet stuck out in the open  on the other side.

“Nai Nai!”  Rennalyss’s soft voice could be heard behind her, the scolding only whisper-loud but no less effective for its lack of volume. The little girl cringed and whipped around from her hiding spot, blue eyes pleading with her older sister to be quiet.  “You know what Mother’s going to do if she catches you under there?”

“Shh!” Naivaria replied, thrusting her tiny hands forward to cover Rennalyss’s mouth.  She was not surprised that Rennalyss had found her here. It was her favorite hiding spot, and one her mother had not found yet.  Rennalyss, though… she was much older, much louder, much taller… and much, much grumpier.  Especially at the moment.  She knew, because one of Rennalyss’s long ears twitched.

“Come on,” she said quietly, her eyes—a mirror of her little sister’s—locking onto Nai’s in a way that had her frozen in place.  When Rennalyss gave her that look, she meant business. “Let’s go play outside.”

She could feel her eyebrows coming together, her bottom lip jutting out in such a way that made it clear that she was going to be stubborn.  “But Renna, Minn’da’s fittin’ a weddin’ dress,” she reasoned, as if that were all the reason in the world for her to stay and spy.  “And da girl what is gettin’ mawwied haf her Minn’da here too…” She was mumbling now in a pleading tone, her defenses not solid enough to warrant the full petulance of dissent. It was one of her favorite things, for she had learned to watch not the bride-to-be, but the mother instead. These sales were much more interesting than running around and getting her dress dirty would potentially be. Whether Rennalyss liked it or not, Naivaria had taken more after their mother than their father.  “Watch wif me?”  Now her brows rose as high as she could get them, her eyes rounding to a largeness that she knew her older sister couldn’t refuse.  It was a tactic that she didn’t employ often, but she would truly be disappointed were she not able to stay and watch the scene play out. Pair those eyes with a little lip bite and a few bats of the eyelashes, and…

Rennalyss hefted a huge sigh. “Fiiiine,” she breathed, “but then we go outside and get out of Minn’da’s hair.  Deal?”

Naivaria almost squealed with delight, but remembered she was hiding at the last instant and instead fixed Rennalyss with a grin fit to split her face.  “Deal!” she whispered so loud that she clapped a hand over her own mouth, looking back toward the little side room with the platforms that Minn’da liked to use to entertain women when they bought dresses.  The two of them settled into comfortable silence after Rennalyss shifted about so that she could see and not be seen, and once the quiet had settled over their hiding spot snippets of conversation began to filter out of the little room.

“To be quite honest, this dress will likely only need a few very minor adjustments,” she heard her mother say, followed by a much louder, “do you need assistance, Miss Pyreglow?”

“No, I’ve got it!” another voice called, and her mother gave a nod and turned back toward the other woman waiting outside the dressing stall.  

“She is going to look beautiful, Kelithiel.”

The other woman reached out and laid her hand upon the seamstress’ arm.  “Of that, Sinaeryn, I have no doubt.”

It was at that point that the curtain to the dressing stall was pushed aside and a woman stepped out in a lily-white gown, trimmed with golden shimmering lace and crystal beads so pretty that Naivaria gasped, and received a nudge from Rennalyss’s foot.  “Be quiet!” her sister hissed.  When the woman in the wedding dress stepped up onto the platform, both Sinaeryn and Kelithiel turned to look at her, and while the seamstress came around to take a look at the fall of the fabric, the woman’s mother brought a hand to her mouth.  It was obvious what was going to happen next, but Naivaria found herself edging forward beneath the rack anyway, shimmying on her belly to get a better look. The woman, misty-eyed, stared up at her daughter as if she were the only thing in the room, despite the seamstress circling her like a hawk and tugging on various spots on the dress to test its lay along her back.

“My little girl,” Kelithiel said through her fingers, stepping up in front of the woman in the wedding dress.

“What do you think?” the woman asked, spreading her arms.

“You are so beautiful,” her mother replied, and then slid her hand up to wipe a tear from her cheek. The woman turned to look briefly to Sinaeryn, and when the seamstress nodded to her stepped down from the platform to embrace her mother.  “I’m sorry, dear.  I’ve dreamed of this day for a long, long time.”

“Me too, Minn’da,” the woman said.  “Me too.”

As the women hugged, Sinaeryn looked on with a serene smile.  For once, she was happy.  For once, she looked to be at peace.  Naivaria watched the embracing women for a moment and then shifted her gaze to her mother. Her Minn’da, who made dreams come true. With a sigh and a smile, she rested her chin on her tiny forearm and basked in the happiness that was all but palpable in the little shop.

“Okay, Nai Nai, let’s let them be,” Rennalyss said, though her voice was much softer now.  Naivaria scooted out from under the rack then, and the two of them snuck out of the shop and out into the cool afternoon air.

“I’m gonna be her one day,” Naivaria said dreamily as they walked down the pavers along the shop fronts that neighbored her mother’s shop.

“And I am sure that you will look absolutely stunning in your wedding gown,” Rennalyss agreed.

“Eww!  No!  I’m not gettin’ mawwied!” Nai protested vehemently.  Then she spun on her heels, twirling as her arms came out wide.  “I’m gonna be Minn’da, and make all the Minn’das happy!”

Rennalyss laughed, tousling the tiny girl’s hair.  “I’m sure you will, Nai Nai.  I’m sure you will.”

[naivariasunspell]

April 20

So much has happened since I last earnestly wrote my thoughts in this book that I cringe just wondering where to begin.  Truly, I ought to have done this more often between last month and today.  I suppose I ought to do this in chronological order, then.

I met a man named Zanteron; who at first I thought by his bearing a man of high status, only to find that his ear was much more attuned to a rougher kind of mercenary folk.  Not well spoken at all, that man—but then, I got the sense that in many and more cases, eloquent speech did not serve him well enough out in the world.  We came upon the subject of reading, and when I suggested that a man of his profession likely had little time to read atop his other endeavors… well, he took it to mean that I thought him illiterate and walked away from me in the Square right then and there.  That was not the case.  Several days later he came to me while I was speaking to someone else and gave me the very same book that I was reading at the time.  He told me that until I read that book, he had nothing to say to me. It all seemed very odd at the time, but when I returned home that evening I opened the front cover to find writing inside—it was small and cramped, but readable, and I started flipping pages to find that every margin had a note in it.  I could not read it right then—and, truly, I was not done reading the book itself—so I tucked it away next to my bed until I at least finished the story. I have since started in on the annotated version, and I must say that the notes are almost as interesting as the story itself.  Once I have finished with this I will seek him out to return his book, and perhaps finally have a pleasant conversation with the man.  I’ve many questions, after all, for a man who has seen the world.

Speaking more upon men, I met a man who I quickly learned is a man of high status.  His name is Lord Bladerunner.  I believe that he told me his first name, but upon his introduction I must have forgotten it, for I cannot remember   Lord Arandael Bladerunner.  That is his name.  He approached me while I was looking for a pencil—admittedly, so that I could write another thought-piece about a man I had seen lingering around the exchange—and he offered me his.  And while this may sound silly and superstitious, I want to keep his pencil forever as a reminder of how my life turned that day.  For when he learned that I dream of starting a boutique—though I do not think he really knows the reasons why I want to do so beyond my love for sewing and fashion—he began asking all manner of questions pertaining to my plans, and once he had exhausted those, asked that I bring samples of my work to him.

I should have spoken to Rennalyss first, I really should have, but I decided then to seize the moment and gathered up the best examples of my work to show him (including one that I made using one of the sheer drapes from the inside of one of the public buildings which I am certain Renna did not come across innocently; I hope he did not note that one’s source but I was so proud of it that I couldn’t not show it).  That night he offered me a ludicrous amount of money and a paper with his seal on it to show that he was my patron before he sent me on my way to draft a portfolio and a list of materials I might need to outfit a shop. I cannot describe the feeling that one gets when they realize that suddenly their dream is within reach, but it is one that warmed me that day.  This man swept into my life and changed it forever.  He later inquired as to my living conditions, and upon seeing them for himself offered to pay a small stipend for my sister and I to improve them.  Renna refused, and… she is right.  It is not a matter of stubbornness, but pride.  That we have come from living on the streets to an apartment in the Exchange is a feat that I, for one, hold in high regard.  We have money problems, sure, but we make things work, and were it not for our struggles would any of this be worthwhile?

The shop, too; my motivation is not the money.  That is something that I have seen precious little of in my time, and I am a firm believer that money corrupts and warps.  A person with immense wealth is a person of comfort.  No; my motivation lies in the touching of lives.  From the time I was a little girl, wandering around my mother’s tailoring shop and watching her interact with her clients, I realized that the art of fashion is not one that simply puts an attractive piece of cloth upon a person’s body; it is something that puts an attractive piece of confidence in a person’s mind. A woman or a man who is dressed nicely automatically stands straighter, holds their chin higher.  For me to touch the life of anyone like that does not require me to own a shop as my mother did, but to pay her the homage that she deserves as someone who did touch the lives of so many is something that I have always wanted to do.  I know that she would not fault me for taking money to start a shop so long as I make it successful, but I do think she would frown upon my taking charity from anyone at all.  I am a woman of means.  I must earn every success in my life; not just so that it is an accomplishment made worthwhile from the time and effort afforded it, but so that when I have made myself into someone respectable that respect is a direct reflection of what I have given to others.

I have met a lady as well; a friend of Lord Bladrunner’s.  Lady Starsong was a bit different; somehow more gentle and welcoming than the lord, though I think it mostly because he is a man and she seems to know a fair bit more about fashion than he (no offense to men, but many of them must be dressed by women to be dressed properly).  It could also be the fact that she was not wearing armor, and thus simply looked less imposing.  She and I spoke of a commission for Lord Bladerunner’s Gala—I will be making a gown for her, and once the cloth has arrived I will begin in earnest.  It is four days away, now.  The mock-up is done, and I’ve her measurements.  I do hope that she falls in love with the dress I’ve envisioned for her.  I do hope that I can get it done in time.  I’ve quite a bit of sewing to do if I am to have a fitting with her in two days, and have the finished product for her either the day after or the morning of the gala.  Honestly, though; what else is there for me to do with my time?  I will work my fingers off if it means creating something beautiful for someone who is also beautiful.

Renna told me that she spoke with a physician and managed to procure some medicine for me last night after Lord Bladerunner took his leave.  It is different than the last; the tincture tastes awful and it was less effective than the other elixir that she managed a few months ago, but it afforded me at least one night’s peaceful rest and I woke today feeling hungry for once before the pain set in again.  I will only take it at night so that I can sleep.  I will need that rest to fuel me during the days to come.

[naivariasunspell]

Get Up

Naivaria groaned, shifting out of the tight ball she’d curled herself into the night before. Every muscle was stiff and the side she’d been lying on ached where her bony shoulder and hip had pressed a little too hard into the floor.

The floor.  How had she ended up here?  Shifting again, she started to stretch out and sit up, a hand moving to rake through her copper hair—that was, until pain lanced through every limb and her arm gave out.  Sagging back down to the floor, she curled back up under the small blanket that covered her.  A blanket? Come to think of it, there was a pillow, too, that had no doubt been slid aside sometime during the night. Slow, deep breaths, in and out.  This was not the first time this had happened, and as the pain faded to its customary ache she loosened fingers that had clenched into tight fists.  One by one her muscles began to relax, though there was always a tension about her these days that she just could not dispel. Oh, now she remembered. She’d stumbled in with her garment bag after meeting with Lord Bladerunner and all but collapsed here. Rennalyss must have come and covered her up and tried to make her comfortable.  A few more deep breaths.  She’d run out of pain medication months ago. “This is nothing,” she said out loud as if trying to convince herself, her own voice grating in her ears despite its low volume.  “I must get up.  I must eat.” The thought of eating made her stomach churn in a decidedly bad way.  “I must get up.”  The last word trailed off into a groan as she once more forced herself up into a half-sit, half-lean.  “Get up,” she commanded, exhaling sharply and sliding her legs around in front of her. “Up.”  Now she made her way to her knees and the pain intensified again. She curled forward and groaned again, sitting back on her feet as she wrapped her arms around herself. I will not spend the entire day on the floor, she thought, sucking another breath in through her teeth and blowing it out again.  I have work to do.  The struggle to stand ended in her leg becoming twisted in the blanket her sister had laid upon her, and for a moment she leaned against the wall and kicked her foot to displace it.  Her jaw clenched.  She was definitely awake now, and as her mental faculties returned to her she forced the pain away, back into that spot in her mind that she reserved especially for its insistent nagging. When she felt confident that she could walk without simply collapsing again she crossed the room, moving to the window to pull aside the drapes.  Her face fell.  The sun was just giving way to the twilight hour. So much for not spending the entire day on the floor.  The thought was bitter, soon followed by a wave of panic as memories of the night before began solidifying in her head.  “The papers!” she exclaimed to no one in particular, spinning around so fast that she nearly spun too far.  The room swam in front of her for a moment and she let it settle before her eyes began darting around.  Where was that garment bag?  Where was her satchel?  She took a few unsteady steps into the center of the room, looking over the sparsely furnished apartment.  The small couch flanked by its two small side tables held no trace of her bag, nor did the armchair that they had acquired.  The garment bag was nowhere to be found. She moved into the bedroom, her frantic searching causing a momentary lapse in concentration.  This time when the pain shot through her again her legs gave out and she toppled onto her bed, spots blooming in her vision. A ragged gasp tore from her throat when she managed to locate her satchel leaning up against the bedframe, and as she blindly groped in it she worked at mentally pushing back the pain again. It was a simple thing, she reminded herself.  Mind over matter.  Steeling oneself.  It was the only thing that worked when she didn’t have anything to take for the pain. She felt the cloth-covered book and all but yanked it out of the bag, unwinding the leather ties that held it shut with trembling hands and pulling the cover open. There, one-third of the way through the pages, were tucked two pieces of loose paper: One, a note for a sum of gold that she’d only ever seen at her mother’s shop when she was younger, and the other a piece of paper that bore a seal.  Breathing a sigh of relief she settled back into the coverlet and tucked them back into the book before hugging it to her chest.  Her heartbeat slowed, and the pain subsided to a dull ache.  As it would be.  As it always was. And then she began to laugh, despite the memory of the pain that still lingered all over.  She’d spent all this time dreaming, and none of it had involved giving it a name.

[naivariasunspell]

March 30

I could not sleep last night.  I kept waking and tossing in my bed, and all because of the events that transpired earlier that evening.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not force my mind away from them, and I find myself now wishing that I could find that poor man and do something nice for him to compensate for the disturbance that we caused in his evening.  The problem is, I have only ever seen him a couple times around the city.  Rennalyss would never have approached him had I not pointed him out, however innocent the comment that I made was meant to be.

It started out rather innocent.  Renna found me as I was reading beneath a tree in the Exchange, and the two of us struck up a conversation.  I teased her a little bit, and she reminded me that Naz had opted to invite me along with the two of them when they went off to see the world.  I would love to see the world more than anything, but if it is a situation in which I am in the way I will refuse.  The last thing I wish to be is a burden.  Past that, I began pointing people out to her that I saw around the exchange, and gave her examples of why people-watching is such a fascinating pass-time.  

One particular man stood alone by a street lamp.  Of him, I simply said that there could be a multitude of reasons that I could think of as to why he was standing in that particular spot and occupying himself as he was.  Well, she decided to get up and find out for herself, despite the fact that I told her that part of the fun is trying to figure things out about people through observation.  Renna has always been one for a more hands-on approach, however, and sometimes I dislike that trait.  To make matters worse, she went right up to him and told him that I was wondering if he was lonely.  I very nearly walked away right then, as I had no desire to stand there and be made to look like a street girl by my own sister.  Does she know how that sounds to a complete stranger, completely out of context?

She crossed the line tonight.  She told him everything.  Everything! If I had wanted him to know, then I would have told him myself.  Nevermind that he is a healer, and that she seems to hold out hope that there is some magical way to fix this problem—no.  He told her what everyone else has so far.  There is no way to take it away. Oh, I was the same as she once was:  I thought that perhaps if I underwent some purification ritual I could get rid of it, but then I began to wonder if that would change my racial identity.  I am, first and foremost, Sin’dorei.  Would my eyes change back to the color that they once were?  I know that might not matter much now, but it has become, in a way, the manner in which we identify each other.  I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that over the course of time I began to realize that there is no way to get rid of it. It is as much a part of me as anything else.  All that is left for it is to make some attempt at pain control, and hope that someday I find a way to get rid of the pain completely.  I can trace everything back to that—my lack of sleep and appetite, the various little illnesses that tend to creep in and take me by surprise—and I am tired.

Either way, now this man—this healer—probably thinks ill of me (or worse, harbors some form of pity) because my sister decided to say something.  Should I care what a stranger thinks?  Normally I might say no, but he looked important.  Renna and I had an argument about boundaries, and though in the end we hugged it out, I still have a bad taste in my mouth regarding the whole ordeal.  I suppose that is because, after all this time, she still thinks I am ill.  I am not ill; at least, not in the way that she perceives.  This cough that I have has settled into my chest, but that will pass as all things do. The underlying problem is not an illness.  It is an intolerance.

[naivariasunspell]

March 29

I very nearly forgot to mention the woman I met a few days ago.  I cannot remember her name–I believe it was Aisa or Aina or something to that effect–but I do remember her sitting down on the same bench that I had chosen as my spot to stare at me for a while.  While normally I might become a bit unsettled by such behavior, something in the way she went about it merely had me thinking that she must be a person, normally, of very few words.

Perhaps it was the fact that she seemed so willing to take me with her on some sort of adventure that had me thinking about all of what I wrote yesterday.  It is frustrating, of course, to know that I would be next to useless in just about any sort of situation one might encounter whilst adventuring–but then, like many unlikely heroes, mercenaries, or soldiers honed by hardship, where would I be if I did not try?  Oh, I do not believe myself to be any of those things–even anything in the making–but it is interesting food for thought.

“I could show it to you a little at a time,” she had said.  Had I any way to contact her, I might have been interested in taking her up on her offer.  As it is, it may be a good thing that I will likely never see her again.  Renna would be beside herself with worry were I to leave even just for a few days.

[naivariasunspell]

March 28

I have been doing a lot of reading lately, and though it is entertaining it becomes a bit dull sometimes when the only interaction I have is with a book.  Rennalyss told me that maybe I should try writing a story or poetry.  Well, I tried writing a poem today.  It is said that when you write poetry it is hardest to begin, but once you do things just flow from there.  I found that to be true, but while I had been expecting to make the poem into something that started out dark and ended on a bit of a lighter note–I had a theme in my head when I set the pen to paper–the words that came out were completely unexpected, and sounded far more bitter than I was aware that I felt.

What does that mean?  Should I begin trying to seek out ways to get rid of this affliction again, despite not having the means to compensate anyone for it?  I am afraid that if it goes away… I will have to go away, too.  I do not quite understand exactly how or if it will work, and perhaps that is the reason for my hesitance.  This is something to ponder on.  I will copy the poem here, so that when I come back to it in the future I know what it is I was pondering.

I do not much like what it is I’ve become when I’m sitting alone and I’m comfortably numb to a world that has changed in the blink of an eye from a haven to hell that I cannot describe. I’ve lived with this ailment for months, years too long, and I’m tired of singing the same Light-damned song where I smile and pretend to be happy for her when I really just want to be rid of the hurt; but it’s silly to think that will ever be true, for I feel it may never be possible to erase what is there that defines me today– it is too much a part to be taken away. What would it take, in the end, just to try a solution that is not just bleeding me dry; for I do not believe there exists some great cure that my body could ever be forced to endure. No, pain is the only thing left to it now, and I’ll wear it with pride when I can’t push it down with a smile for the one who my way deigns to look while I busy my mind with each page of this book.

Looking back on it now, I am not completely certain that I grasp the concept of poetry… or rather, I do grasp the concept, but fail in the practice.  Where is the imagery?  Where is the elegant phrasing and use of language that makes a person wonder?  Perhaps now that I have gotten this one out of my system I can begin writing actual poems, and not just complaints that happen to rhyme.

[naivaria]

💣 (For Renna)

💣 - “I am so jealous of you--your body, your allure, your ability to dish out the sass. I wish I was more like you.”

[[ Thanks for the ask, @rennavale! ]]