A Court of Hells and Stars

Chapter 1: Dreams and Pictures

47 years after the Masquerade

I tried to focus the picture in front of me. The edges were blurred, like that of a watercolor painting. I could see the worn brick borders of a hearth. The crackling fire that lay within. A small, dirty hand poked at the flickering flames with a stick, occasionally tossing another in. Atop the hearth, wooden figurines lined a shelf. Some animals, a few plants... 

The hand reached for something off to the side and brought another stick into view. It took me a full minute to realize that it was not a stick at all, but a paintbrush. 

The hand gripped the paintbrush tighter. The picture suddenly changed, to a barn filled with bales of hay... that hand now reached into the hay, picking some of the coarse straws up. The slim fingers twirled the pieces slowly, as if lost in thought...

I woke so peacefully, for a moment I forgot where I was. But one look around me, and it all came crashing back in. I wasn't home. I wasn't with my family. I was in Hell. 

I groaned and rolled off the bed, grabbing my clothes and putting them on without looking at the female still sleeping under the covers. I didn't let myself think of her, or my family, or what I'd done these past years to protect them. Instead, I dwelled on the dream. 

Something so small, and yet the images calmed me. They were so... peaceful, so blissfully simple, so different from the life I'd led. A normal life. 

As I walked down the hall, I kept my features schooled to indifference. I passed only one other person, though I'd hardly call it that. 

The Attor grinned when it saw me. "Ah. There you are."

"Here I am." The drawl practically fell off my tongue. "What do you want?"

Its sharp silver fangs gleamed in the dark cavern. "Oh, just thought you'd like to know what day it is. Your kind so loves their merry holidays." 

I turned over the words in my head. Springtime. It was Springtime, I knew that much. But I'd thought it was much earlier in the year. If he was implying... 

My blood turned to dust, but I didn't let it show. "Your generosity is appreciated, but unnecessary." I turned away, leaving him behind. I heard a dim hiss behind me. Obviously, it didn't like me getting the last word. 

My heartbeat thrummed in my ears the further away I got. Shit. Had it really been that long since I'd been outside the mountain? 

Starfall. There was no other holiday the Attor could possibly be referring to. And if what it said was true... 

I squashed the revulsion rising in my throat, the fear that awoke in my gut at the thought of what I'd be doing tonight. I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders and settling into the oh-so-familiar mask. Play the game. Don't let them see what breaks you. 

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I could see small pots sitting on a dirty floor, filled with brightly colored paints. Sapphire blue, golden yellow, ruby red. A wooden paintbrush dipped into the red, swirling it around until it was to the satisfaction of the painter. The paintbrush rose out of the thick red liquid, and a hand focused into view. I realized almost instantly that I'd seen it before. 

But it was just a dream, nothing more. Nothing real. Wasn't it? 

The hand moved forward and began stroking the paintbrush across the wooden side of a table. A flower began to form, one I recognized. Foxglove. Though it was the wrong color, the likeness was unmistakable. 

I watched for a moment as the small, pale female hand pulled back, calculating the next step. I watched as the picture moved, the painter glancing around the blurry interior of a home. Her gaze landed on a door, and the picture shifted as she stood and walked over to it, opening it in one swift movement. 

She looked immediately at a rickety dresser situated in the corner of the room. I could practically hear her pondering what she could do with it, what wonders she could create on its surface. 

I didn't know if this was real. But this mortal girl, these images of her life... I decided to try to send a picture of my own. 

I called to mind the image that brought me joy when I needed it most- the open night sky, crystal stars hovering in an inky sea of richest dark blue, with the moon rising over the horizon. 

I pushed the thought across what I hoped was the bridge connecting me to these images. I just had to hope she'd see it, and feel some of the same peace she'd granted me.

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The dreams became a lifeline of sorts. Something to look for, something to think about when Amarantha sent me to do her dirty work. Something to wonder about when people spat at my feet and called me a whore. The comment didn't bother me like it used to. 

This woman, this mortal life that she led, brought me a peace I couldn't quite fathom. Somewhere, there was enough time and safety for that small hand to bring pictures to life through her own mind. Somewhere, there was a world much better off than mine.

It calmed me, even in my darkest moments, to know there was someone out there who'd found happiness when I had not. 

Dresser art by feyspeaker!