Sigil: City of Doors

To open my memories to others; the price for belonging, once again, to something.

I chose to put behind me the life of secrets. Now, to join the Society, I must prove that this is so. So be it.

The first five. This will take time, to do properly. But then, all things take time. Patience. Let me begin with that.

The view from a small child; the world, so big around her. Alone, as she nearly always was alone. But it does not bother her. She has never known another life. All that she sees and does is familiar to her, until it is not.

She sits in a tower, cloaked, masked, gloved. Every inch of skin wrapped. Her guardians tell her she must always be so, that the peasants, should they see her, would destroy her. They have taught her that this is a land that fears the different, a land that worships a fierce and merciless god of justice.

She has time to think of these things, now. For she lies on her belly, in the warm earth of the graveyard, behind the ruined and crumbling tower that is all she has ever known. She smells the fresh earth, where her guardians have dug up the corpses for their necromancy. The smell of decay, over all of this. She loves how this game of hers makes her senses stretch out. Loves how it makes her notice afresh all the sights and sounds and smells of the world around her, as if new.

She mustn't look away, or she will lose the game. It teaches her to focus. Her guardians tell her that this is the key to magic ... discipline ... the ability for one part of her to stay on task, no matter how distracted.

She obeys, dutifully. She knows she must. But at times, she feels she will go mad, from the sameness of it all.

So she does not look away.

She smiles to herself. She enjoys the game. Enjoys playing with her male guardian's pet.

She focuses on it. The eight lovely, shiny legs. She admires Wayspinner's exotic form. She spends hours like this, learning to focus. She and the spider seem almost to talk together, at times. The spider knows the game, too. He will get a small bit of meat, if he waits here, longer than the tiefling girl.

The girl really sees the spider, as so few do. Sees the joints, as they slide over each other. The alien way of moving, always one limb at a time, never two together. Slow and graceful, hypnotic, moving in the web, spinning, waiting, waiting, always waiting, always hungry. So patient, so patient. The shiny carapace in the moonlight, the glitter of Wayspinner's eyes, the dew sparkling on the strands of the web, like cold fire.

She waits. Determined. She will not lose the game this time. The spider will tire first. She wishes she could be a spider herself, at times. She dreams of what it will be like, when she can. Her joints begin to ache, so long she has lain there, watching, but she can bear things. She will wait, and be ready.

She loves the night, it is the only time she is allowed out of the tower, lest she be seen. Her guardians do not like the night as well as she, anyway.

A sudden laugh bursts from her, as the spider suddenly turns and scampers across the old graves, back to the tower.

I win! I finally win!

She laughs, the innocent, joyful laughter of a child. She rises, painfully ... and then a pain she has never known takes her .... a sight she has never seen. The sun is rising. So bright ... like daggers in her eyes. She covers her eyes and tries to run inside ... stumbling across a headstone. She cannot see ... the brightness, like fire!

But she has to try again, has to get inside; her guardians will be so angry now; she is late!

She opens her eyes, lying on the grave .... and sees the world anew. Something shocking .... something ... colorful. Not the dim light of the tower. Not the pale washed out world of her night-sight.

A red flower ... shocking red, like fresh blood .... grows on the grave, right before her eyes, filling her vision. A world lived in grays and browns, a world wrapped in masks and robes ... and now, this red rose, lit by a ray of the rising sun, shining through a chink in the old wall ... she is transfixed.

Never again will she stop seeking that .... that moment of revelation .... when suddenly, the same world, seen differently, seems fresh and new.

She follows a man, up a steep mountain trail, a crossbow cradled in her arms. Nervous, watchful.

The man is a tiefling ... shorter than she, but she sees him with loving eyes, watching him, so much stronger than she, so much more experienced. A rapier in one hand, as they walk together, a picnic basket in the other. She watches the play of his muscles under his shirt, his short, orange hair blowing in the breeze as he walks ahead of her, careless of the danger. She feels the wind on her cheeks, ruffling the hat she wears, to hide her own horns, blowing the cloak over her robes.

"We'll be fine, Corvana" His voice music to her ears, she lets the sound calm her a bit, trying to let herself trust him.

They come at last to the end of the trail ... a moonlit outcropping, looking out over a forested valley. Below, she sees a mountain lake, reflecting the moon's light on silver, windswept ripples, the bright green trees of the mountains lending a strong scent to the wind.

"This is what I wanted you to see." He says, smiling at her

"It's a lovely view, Paesan. Thank you for bringing me here." With a sense of daring, she looks about, to be sure they are unwatched, and sets aside her fur cap, feeling the wind in her hair for the first time, since she met him alone in the magical workshops of the city and reached out to him.

They sit then, and chat, of nothing much ... of sights seen, of travels they have each been on, of others that they know. She can never remember clearly what was said. It is the taste, she remembers. She has never tasted anything so wonderful, as that picnic. The sweet red berries, a strong flavor in her mouth. The wine, a lovely find, that he had pilfered from the cellar of some noble. The sharp cheese he had brought. She had never realized food could taste so wonderful. All the while, watching him, wanting him so much. Beginning to hope that here was one at last, who did not see her as a monster. One marked as she was marked.

They finish the meal, and she takes one sweet berry, not wanting the visit to end. She eats it, and rises to thank him.

And then, she leans in, and kisses him, putting her arms around him, smelling the warm musky smell of him, the tantalizing hint of brimstone in the air, tasting his lips on hers, with the sharpness of the berry on her lips, and his.

"Corvana .... are you sure?" He says, softly.

"I want it, Paesan. Take me back to Silverbridge. To your rooms."