Meaning of Normal

Meaning of Normal; Prologue

The cold wind swirled around the empty street, blowing leaves and paper over the cobbled road. windows were covered in soot and grime, making it impossible to see through them into the apartments. Missing persons posters were peeled and fading, impossible to read in the moonlight, next to bright gold plaques reminding citizens that them of the laws and punishments, most covered in graffiti insulting the empire.

A lone figure walked through the street, identity concealed by a dark cloak. A hand reached out, holding a black pistol with a strange, thick tube attached to the top. As a gust of wind blew over a homemade sandwich board, he turned, firing a small bright sphere of light towards it. It was reduced to burning planks of wood.

"You're lucky you don't have to pay for that," a stern female voice said from behind the shooter.

"Emrose, please give me a good reason for coming out here tonight, not like last time. Our more recent meetings have been ... disappointing ... in the eyes of the Council. They want to send me in to watch you in the restaurant," he said, lowering his hood. His face was long and sharp, his eyes slanted at forty five degree angles with slit pupils, their icy blueness gleaming harshly in the darkness. his mouth was curved in a serious frown, which only made him seem more intimidating. His limp, dirty blonde hair did nothing to hide his pointed ears.

"Oh, and to think you're rude for an elf, Dalarth! Honestly, get to the point, your pious Council thinks I'm a traitor. I don't think they realise that their last attack scared everybody in the area shitless! If anybody is doing anything illegal, they're not talking about it. So many people had their friends and family taken. The younger ones think they're coming back and I don't know what to tell them!" Emrose ranted. She was in her late thirties, standing about a head taller than Dalarth though skinnier, with messy dark curls and half of a pair of glasses which constantly fed out hacked messages from known and unknown criminals, one of the reasons she could gather so much evidence. She was one of the few pure humans left, which made it hard for her to set up her inn. Humans were thought to be impure, filthy and savage. Emrose, however, was none of those, but still made an excellent spy for the pure elves, rulers of the surrounding provinces.

Dalarth, even though he knew he couldn't trust her, and he'd never admit it, liked her for her courage and wit. She was protective of her employees, usually young girls who desperately needed a place to feel safe. Recently, though, she had been acting strangely when people changed the subject to her work with the girls. It seemed to Dalarth as if she were anxious, and if he didn't know her better, afraid.

"Well, this is your last warning. After that I will be forced to keep an eye on you, and I know the council is being ridiculous proposing my supervision, seeing as it would only make it worse. Everybody would be suspicious of my presence, and you would lose a lot of business. But the only other option is replacement, and what you give in comparison with our other spies is like diamonds compared to dirt in my opinion," he said, his frown fading into a slightly upturned line.

"Is that a smile I see? Gosh, your getting soft on me!" she laughed, and Dalarth's frown immeadiately returned, almost a scowl.

"Give me the envelope before somebody sees us," he said ferociously.

"Not an envelope today, got more than usual. Tell your council to can it, 'cause I'm better than all of their pet agents," she said with a crooked grin, handing over a flat transparent screen. Dalarth took it and hid in his cloak, pulled his hood back on, and walked into the shadows, leaving Emrose standing alone in the street, her hair whipping around in the wind.

"One day, I swear, one day I will be forced to kill you, and I will enjoy it," she whispered before vanishing in a flash of light.