7: Sunny Side Down

CW// Cursing

7

Iridea

“It’s fucking four in the morning! Who does he think he is? Matthias Adrelez?” I pour a cup of steaming tea for Amara, narrowing my eyes at the stream of steady water as if I could splash it into Mr. Ostertag’s face. Stupid idiot. Amara sent in her job application almost two months ago now with no response. And he decides today, the day after the star shower, to demand her to start working. At four in the morning. Gods, I hate it here.

“Hey, is the timing unreasonable? Yes. But do we need some money coming in? Also yes. So, which outfit is more appropriate for the job?” I don’t even have to look at my sister’s outstretched hands to respond,

“The purple and black tank with the black skirt, throw on the black or white cardigan as well. It looks like it'll be warm today but you never know with this shithole. Also, men.” We exchange a knowing glance. Her expression swiftly changes to a pout as she eyes her prized creation: a black dress with layered strips of closely meshed fabric on the skirt which creates a fluttering yet sharp appearance. 

“You sure? Not the dress?” Her makeup is half done. One eye shadowed in black and shimmering purple, lined by a sharp flick. The other remains undecorated, our shared warm, rose-tinted brown skin paled by her foundation. I roll my eyes,

“Not the dress. It's beautiful but impractical. Plus, you’ll get flour all over it. Mr. Ostertag isn’t going to put you on the till for your first day so you’re going to get messy.” I take the tea strainer from where it sits on the mug and tip the soggy remains of rose buds and petals into the bin. The contents of the bin are close to overflowing, so I'll have to take it to the garden today. I can already feel exhaustion curling its way up my limbs.

“Ugh, fine.” Amara tosses the dress onto the couch. I plop two sugar cubes into her tea and swirl them fiercely until they’ve dissolved. Before she can run back upstairs, I slide the tea towards her.

“Two eggs, or three?” She looks at me, her lime eyes flicking down at the tea cup. Her hand with painted black fingernails rests on the bannister. She elegantly lays a hand on her chest with a performer’s grace.

“Awww, for me?” 

“Don’t cry your makeup off.” 

“I’ll have two. Imenat’ai, parraso doceno, mua mua mua.” She punctuates her sentence with three quick kisses on my cheek, too quick for me to brush her away. She grabs her tea and darts away before I can scold her for the usage of my nickname; parraso doceno, sweet little bird. Ugh, the very thought of it makes me shudder.

Nevertheless, I make her two eggs, like a good little sister. However…I can’t go without a small ounce of revenge. So I make sure to put just under the amount of spice she likes and overcook her eggs only slightly so that they aren’t as runny as she usually makes them. Can’t get too sentimental around here.

When, at last, Amara flies from the house with slightly under-toasted bread in hand (my handiwork) I lounge back into the cushions of our sofa. A minute of my life is taken from me as I attempt to sit in a comfortable position without crushing or bending my large wings. Alas, not everyone can be happy. I lay down on my stomach, dreading the eventual chest pain, and allow my wings to fan behind me. Then, I take a book from the coffee table and open the crinkling pages. My eyes linger on the old, ink. This is my contemplation book. It's so boring that I can think while ‘reading’ a book and feeling productive. It's ingenious, no? My attention speedily offrails from the information within before I even begin the first sentence.

The star shower had been incredible, magnificent. Streaks of blue and purple had painted the night sky as the stars blazed brilliantly across it. It was the one time Amara, Evelena and I joined the rest of Jemtong in a gathering. It had been like a painting that I couldn’t believe I had been inside. Like I was a character in a story. Fantastical, watching a mirage of a dreamlike ocean, colours coalescing in waves and whirlpools before falling into darkness. 

Four weeks ago there had been something just like it, and four months ago as well. I remember the bright flash outside of my window - the sun licking the sky, bringing hot weather for weeks, the moons twirling in circles, three dots of pastel pink, blue and white. 

Word had travelled from Xeorka since then, my home country: the moon elves and shadow elves were trying to make amends. In Scholk, Forest elves were travelling north to Myan, where I live now, to meet their sister tribes. Some people in the fishing town of Penketh even said they spotted light elves travelling in majestic, shining boats along the coast for the first time in four hundred years. That last part is probably a load of bullshit though.

They said the star elf was coming.

Which meant Hyxver was rising. When everyone thought he had given up. Four years ago, after a shooting star flew across the night sky, he took Xeadafria. One of the families that escaped lives here, in Jemtong. I’ve never met them but they were one of few and they didn’t escape without their losses. Now, after the sun flare four weeks ago, people have gone missing. There are creatures in the woods: Xeoserps and nightcrawlers. No one goes out at night. Houses are barred on full moons. 

Now, we have half of Zyrona: Myan and Scholk. Kinionia was almost taken, years maybe even centuries before I was born but now, with these events, Hyxver’s forces march ever closer to the borders. So Kinionia doesn’t really count, does it?

Despite all these facts: Hyxver’s renewed power; having to move out of Xeorka after the shadow elves sided with Hyxver for their own safety; Elves all over Zyrona meeting once again, I am doubtful that the star elf even exists. This could be a plot of Hyxver’s; he’s tactful, he likes to play games. By raising hope from the people, he has puppets to play with again. A fight to win. And he wouldn’t be so careless to let a star elf get away. Not after this long. 

The star elves are dead. There would be no brave hero to save us when Hyxver’s forces eventually cross Kinionia’s borders into Scholk, and then, Myan. Our only so-called ‘warriors’ resided in luxury in the Castle of the Four; wasting away in the lazy sun and beautiful, adorned gardens. The pacifistic Moon Elves wouldn’t help. It’s doubtful the Shadow Elves in Scholk would either - maybe they would join the Light Elves in disembarking into the unknown dangers of the ocean surrounding us. 

Any day now, war will break out. We will lose. We will lose everything for the other life. The half-life. My hidden powers will do little but hold off the inevitable. Amara’s illusions can do nothing but hide us temporarily from Hyxver’s gaze. Evelena hasn’t touched a sword since we left Xeorka, four years ago. She hasn’t used one since she broke Amara and me free from Hyxver’s grasp. That was just over eleven years ago. 

My life will end before it even begins. There's no point crying about it though, it's inevitable. Always has been, always will be. Why get disappointed over something you can't change? Why get excited over something that isn't real?

It's all a load of bullshit, really.