Morningstar

[CH. 0037] - The Violin

"Hocus Pocus bad violinus be no longer brokus" - Nord Morningstar

The Nixbob's face was like a beautiful painting marred by crude strokes of red and purple—fresh bruises contrasting against her skin. A cut on the corner of her lip seemed to cry out the story her eyes were too proud to tell.

Her brown hair was hastily tied back in a messy bun, cat ears drooping in parallel with her hair. Modestly dressed in a grey dress and a once-white apron now dulled by life, she carried with her only a light bag and a suitcase too small for any actual belongings.

The little Nixbob, probably her son, was an odd juxtaposition to his mother's pained elegance. His tiny face was lit up, his eyes twinkling with the magic of undiscovered worlds. Though just moments before he was screaming her name, he now grinned as though he'd found a treasure.

"I'm very lucky!" the little one piped up randomly, spinning to face Nord.

His mother choked back tears. "Don't mind, Bram. He's... well, he's been rather unique these past few weeks since he found a four-leaf clover," she said, and with a more urgent tone, she added, "We need a place to stay. I can pay, and I can work."

"We aren't open yet," interjected Adamastor behind the counter, showing as much warmth as a winter night. "But you may come back later."

"Please... we have nowhere else to go!" pleaded the woman.

Nord's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing on her face. She squatted down to meet Bram eye to eye. "So your name is Bram?"

"Yes, ma'am! Bram, the lucky charm!"

Nord stifled a laugh, her features softening. "Do you know the name of this place, Bram?"

"Morningstar!"

"That's right," Nord grinned, straightening up to her full height. "And do you know who I am?"

The little Nixbob shook his head from side to side.

"My name is also Morningstar. So, guess who owns this place?"

"You!" Bram's eyes widened in awe.

Nord pivoted to Adamastor. Her eyes locked onto his. "Prepare a two-bedroom suite and have them something warm to eat. Please." The last word, please, was not a request; it was a thinly veiled command.

The woman's eyes brimmed with dry tears. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means. Maybe... maybe he really is lucky."

Nord approached the Nixbob woman, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Rest now. We'll talk about what comes next later. For now, eat, relax, and try to put today behind you."

The woman nodded, finally letting her guard down. "My name is Perdita, by the way."

Nord smiled, the weight of her authority as comforting as a warm blanket. "Welcome to the Morningstar."

Nord was lost in a sea of parchment and ink, her fingers drumming on the wooden desk cluttered with ideas and failed attempts at an invitation. Sure, she could stick an announcement in the town gazette—boring but effective. Alternatively, hand-delivering the invites would add a personal touch, but then again, she barely knew anyone in town.

She wondered whimsically if Merlin could conjure some Harry Potter flair, sending owls winging through the night sky, each carrying a message sealed with her emblem. But the boundaries between magic and the mundane still puzzled her. In a world that had room for both, when was it appropriate to let the spellwork fly?