Young Writers Society

“How do you even know she’s Lady Glass, I can’t remember a single thing about her.” Fael asked for the umpteenth time as they trudged along the snow slowly, the pace far slower than the one they had come.

“I don’t know, Fael.” She tried to keep the frustration though from the pitying look on his face, it was a futile attempt. “I told you it was more of a hunch than anything else,” She dragged her fingers through her wind-blown locks; a familiar actions did when she was frustrated or confused.

“Well, I see no harm in checking things in the library. They’ve got the widest range of books,” He replied in a soothing voice, clearly trying to mollify her. She nodded with her mind elsewhere, trying to conjure up the tales of Lady Glass, it was a ridiculous theory yet she could not think of another possible theory for the appearance or reason for that matter. Both preoccupied with their own thoughts, the pair didn’t notice the pair of eyes hidden beneath the trunks. ~ The Great library was an elegant building with marble columns ingrained with intricate designs, above the great wooden door was a triptych of paintings related to literature. The two climbed up the irony steps and stepped inside, the door was always open during daylight. A great span of different wood stretched d from one end to the other, corners that merged into spiralling staircases with delicate silver railing to the second floor.

She shivered involuntarily, for some reason the temperature in the library was even cooler than the one outside. How that was possible, she did not know. She took a deep breath through her nostrils to calm her racing heart and tense shoulders, it was a heavenly scent. Crisp as freshly fallen snow yet tinged with smell of home. Where several women sat serenely upon the chairs placed there, the sound of pages being flipped resonated soothingly throughout the spacious library. The ground floor was bustling with ambassadors and counsellors, the air was unusally tense. Creating a sharp contrast with the serenity above.

“Come on, we aren’t here to breath air.” Fael’s warm hand tugged her back into reality and together they wandered through the well-stacked aisles. “They’ve changed things around here, haven’t they?” He said quietly, finger lingering on the spine of a well-worn book. “They have too.” She echoed his words with regret, scanning the library with her eyes. “There used to be more books around here, far more books.” There was a vacuous sadness in her tone as she walked slowly to the empty aisles at the back of the ground floor, years ago. Those aisles were stacked with proud books that detailed the history of their country. Where they were now, she had no idea, in fact, she didn’t even have any idea where the scrolls were kept anymore.

"I think they are at the back, well, I hope so.” Fael pushed her along gently, though his eyes lingered reluctantly on the rich robe of a visiting ambassador. He chewed the right corner of his lip thoughtfully as he guided them to the more isolated areas of the library.

From the somewhat pensive look on his face, she knew better than to ask why. Instead, she ran her eyes over the roles of sporadically stacked books covered with faded pictures. It seems like they have found the right place, these were the forgotten lores and tales of Avignon. She picked one up gently, the layers on the dust so thick it floated upwards in a cascade of sandy white.

“Ugh, I bet the last time someone picked that up was at least a decade ago.” Fael gasped through his violent sneezes, attracting several annoyed glances.

She flipped through the fragile pages slowly, worn away by age and isolation. She paused after what seemed like an eternity of flipping, and grinned.

“Found her.” Her slender finger circled around a faded name on the top of the page, Glass of Clock. She continued without letting him respond, eyes scanning the rest of the page briefly before flipping over.

The page was missing, a jagged seam screamed out at the pair as they stared at the book in shock. She carefully flipped the page over and breathed in slowly, sharing a meaningful look with Fael.

“What does it say?” He asked, nodding at the current page she’s on.

“Nothing useful, as you can imagine. It says here, Glass of the Clocks also known as Lady Glass in some parts was someone with the power to open up portals to our predecessor. It is said here that this is achieved through the clocks she crafts.” She closed the book softly and replaced it back into its slot and slumped against the shelves, “nothing about where she lives, what she looks like or even the origin of this tale.”

“Wait, what do they mean by portals to our predecessors?” He slid down beside her, all lanky grace as he sat down.

“Hm, I think in a few of these tales. They say, Alsace was actually built on the foundation of another world or an element taken from that world.”

Fael looked at her as if she had spoken gibberish, “What tales? What world? What on earth are you even talking about, Sirce?”

She huffed out an impatient breath, annoyed at her own inability to express her thoughts. It was in her younger days, by the fireside at night. Her father used to bring out leather bound books that told of tales that stretched far far beyond her wildest imagination. It was on those cold winter nights, she learnt about the heritage of Alsace, the theories of its existence for all the official scrolls were destroyed in the Great Fire of Xerx.

“Hey, don’t go daydreaming on me, Ce.” He snapped his fingers deftly in front of her, effectively bringing her back to reality. Realizing that, Fael had been brought up under different circumstances and probably did not have the luxury of these life unrelated tales.

After half an hour of explanation, he gave an exhausted sigh and collapsed against the wooden floor.

“That is a lot of mythical theories, Sirce.” He groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes yet his lips were tilted up in a smile.

“Yeah, it is. Found any useful ones we could use to figure out this weird old lady?” She drew her knees up to her chest, feeling like they were seven again.

“Ha, assuming she’s a myth come back to life,” he shook his head in silent laughter, “do you even realize how ridiculous we sound? Someone just died this morning and we’re researching about mythical creatures.”

She was about to reply when in a sudden move, he hooked his arm around her elbow and pulled her down next to him. Suddenly serious eyes locked into hers.

“Sirce, tell me this.”

The seriousness in his tone startled her into shock, he was so close. Closer than he had ever been with her, close enough to observe the golden flecks in his chocolate brown eyes.

“What?” She breathed out hoarsely.

“Would you leave Avignon if you could?”