Thousands of years ago a war broke out on a distant island, splitting its occupants into factions. Alifero, Cornucopia, Querencia and Aranea. The tension between them that has been unyielding for centuries only grows when their precious water starts...
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The lofty tune from the piano drifts through the room like a falling autumn leaf. Or at least that's what I hope for, it is after all what's instructed on my music sheet. Alifero doesn't have any trees that shed leaves in autumn, so I don't have much of a comparison. Jungles don't have seasons like the temperate areas of Aranea and Querencia. Cornucopia was an exception; I think their infrastructure killed their seasonal processes. The urban landscape is somewhat green in the sense that their rooftops are their gardens and fruit grows on the side of massive steel-glass buildings, but it couldn't hold a candle to the red colour of Querencian forests in autumn. That's what I've read anyway.
A hot breeze wafts through one of the parlour's open windows causing my fingers to slip and break their rhythm. I take my hands off the keys and pull my lips into a flat line. The thought of swimming in the lagoon with Niki comes to the front of my brain.
A knock at the door dissipates my thoughts. We never get visitors.
I see a phantom servant swiftly float to the door with a startled look on his face. Moving to the side of the piano, I stand and wait respectfully and try to smooth out my slightly-crinkled beige skirt and white blouse. It was the only good thing about Phil being at home, if he wasn't I wouldn't be nearly as presentable as I am now.
It cannot Amélie, I think. Amélie has her own keys for the door, and she's too neat to forget them.
The man enters the room and I bow quickly out of respect. I may be considered the lowest part of my family, but that didn't exclude me from basic manners. The Elytrian's wings were a cold grey, and his black eyes were even colder, so much so that I nearly shivered as he looked me over with a repulsed pout he had failed to hide from my trained eyes. His hair was raven black and reminded me of Father's wings and he had light stubble on his face. What I found most astonishing was the three-piece grey suit he wore. He would have to be glaringly hot, but he wasn't even glistening with sweat.
"Welcome to the Craftier estate," I smile as politely as I can without being as sarcastic as I wanted to be. "I am Aster Craftier."
His smile drips with antipathy and his eyes gawk at the silver brace that weighed down my right wing. "I am Typhon Prestige, a member of the Aliferian council."
So that's why he's here. It made sense since Phil is home, but his presence still made my wings prickle unpleasantly. Only an imperative issue would have been brought to Phil by a physical messenger. Something less important would have been sent via the post or maybe an Inchling from another council member.
Another breeze from the window alerts me to the incredible stench of cologne that cocooned this strange guest. Whilst I manage to keep my nose from scrunching, the mere sight of me seemed to make his lips curl.
