FIRST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘦-𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘺. 𝘈 𝘵𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘈 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳.
Xanthiene Vivenca's life drones on in a cycle of finding her next meal, ensuring...
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Xanthy groaned as she touched a sore spot on her head. Everything was blurred including that dark silhouette at the edge of her vision. Footsteps creaked against the floorboards. She wasn't moving though. So who...?
Her eyes widened and registered a boy clad in a dark cloak. He had his hand extended towards Xanthy. A smile was plastered into his pale face. Atop his head sat a mop of...white hair.
White...
Xanthy scrambled back, disturbing a colony of cleret nuzzling at the rotting floorboards. The furry animals hissed, baring their pointed incisors before scattering into directions she couldn't even name. Her back bumped against a closet door; dust and debris rained at her hair. Oh, no.
"Are you alright?" the boy scratched the back of his head and took a step towards Xanthy.
Xanthy's arms shot forward. "D-do not come closer," she squeaked. Her chest heaved. She pressed herself against the closet as if that could somehow save her.
The boy froze. Xanthy gulped lungfuls of air. Was he here to take her as well? Was she going to vanish like those children?
"Look, I am sorry about your roof," the boy inclined his head towards a gaping hole hovering above them. Midday sunlight shone through it like a theater beam.
"What are you?" Xanthy asked as she stood on shaky knees. Her eyes fixed upon a fretboard jutting from the pile. She never thought junk would be useful in situations such as this.
The boy shrugged. "That does not matter, does it?"
Xanthy yanked the fretboard. The junkpile eroded in a series of varied clatters. Never mind that. She pointed the detached fretboard at the boy. "It matters because I am gonna have to deal with you if you are a fairy or, worse, a half-blood."
"Why would a half-blood be worse?" the boy shook his head and cursed. "No, actually, that is not important. Look, I hope you are alright with that nasty bruise growing on your forehead. My bad," he ducked his head in a repentant gesture. "But I really have to go."
Xanthy tightened her hold on the fretboard. Whatever he was, she was grateful that he seemed inclined to get away from here. Then, her eyes traveled to the hole in her roof. She frowned. "You cannot just go," she blurted. "You have to pay me."
The boy blinked. "What?"
Xanthy crossed her arms and jutted her hip to the side. "You have to pay for the damage you did to my house," she pointed up.
The boy's gaze flicked up at the hole then at the mess of debris scattered on the floor. "You are not serious..."
Xanthy smiled sweetly. "I am," she purred. Then, she splayed her fingers towards him. "Pay up."
The boy stepped back. "I do not have anything to give you," he glanced at the backdoor leading to the yard. "Can I use this door?"
Xanthy planted her foot into the ground. "No," she frowned. "You have to pay me."
