Crumblecity Tales

“Lit by the pond’s moonlight.”

• Tlarian saying, indicating an object stolen, then stolen again in turn

Two long shadows fought in the hall where a smaller, lighter shadow hid.

“I told you, Esmerela, time and again, we cannot ignore their summons forever. You must-!”
                “No,” Esmerela, sighed. “If I attend to their demands… it’s so… small! I, no, we cannot just bend to their every whim, or they’ll never stop. Never leave us alone. We owe them nothing and still they make these…” she indicated the small collection of pages on the desk in front of the fire, “threats. We can’t let these continue, we have a child now, Gregoire! I don’t want Kalia involved…”

“I know, sweet, but…” Gregoire stopped.

The white shadow in the hall had stirred, hearing them refer to her. Both parents glanced suddenly at the hall, and sighed in tandem. Kalia stepped into the yawning doorway, blinking in the fireplace’s brilliance. It provided no warmth.

“Kalia…” her mother said, looking tired. She never seemed to age, to Kalia, her white fur showed no signs Foxen usually exhibited, but her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. “We sent you to bed… How did you manage to get past Leena?”

Kalia shook her head, saying nothing, the most she could.

“You know how she is, dear. It’s no surprise a child of ours had no problem evading a maid, after all…” Gregoire chuckled as Esmerela shot the older, brown and grey Foxen an acidic glare.

She laid a single hand upon the papers. “Now’s not the time, dear. We may have guests, after all.”

“Ah-“ Kalia’s father started, then paused. “Perhaps… no. Leena! Leena…” he called to the maid, and Kalia gave the same poisonous glare as her mother. Or tried to, as she heard the exclamations and shuffling from down the hall. Her parents ignored her angry stare, as they always did.

So Kalia stomped her foot, ferociously signing her complaints, but her father just raised a single finger. “Your mother is right, now is not the time… Hm… However…” he glanced at his wife, who rolled her eyes, before he strode across the floor, polished boots clicking on the mahogany, particularly loud in the massive reception room.

As the sounds of the concerned maid grew closer, Gregoire leaned down and gave a conspiratorial wink to his daughter, who was still trying to sign her defense, and placed a small, silver key into her hands, silencing her. She emitted a small gasp of anger, before that indignance turned to confusion, then interest, then suspicion, faster than the clouds could flicker across the moon.

“This, you see…” her father tapped it in her hands, “is perhaps one of our family’s biggest, most important secrets. I might share more details in the morning with a young Foxen if she does as she was asked by her parents…” He winked again, and Kalia just glared. Gregoire just chuckled and turned his back, knowing full-well he had won this bout.

As Kalia turned the key in her hands, the maid burst into the hall. “You! You scoundrel!” She grabbed Kalia’s arm, turning her slightly as Kalia grunted in annoyance. “You were supposed to stay in your room! I’m so sorry, Ma’am, Sir, I’ll have her to bed soundly.”

Kalia briefly debated slipping out the window in the hall, which was letting in the cool, early-spring breeze, but as the key bit into her fist, she decided against it. She could play along this time, at least. Her father showed her at least a small amount of respect, she may as well repay it. This once, at least, she thought, a small smile creeping onto her face.

                The maid dragged her down the hall – not physically, but more as a fish caught in an eddy. Kalia didn’t mind. Her parents had always been so… annoying. She had seen the papers earlier in the day, though perhaps not read the contents. The wax seal consisted of two crossed daggers, and more than a few had been delivered within the past week. Every time she saw the mysterious sigil, Kalia’s fur tingled, and her parents never answered or explained once. In fact, they always just seemed… well, Kalia didn’t know. Tired? Annoyed? Her parents were always so stoic, so seemingly self-assured, but that seemed to fade around the overlaid daggers, so she found herself dropping the subject.

                But the mystery was right there. And they were discussing it! She’d become very proficient at sneaking around the house of late, which she felt… well, maybe bad. She was fifteen, and her parents still treated her as though she was a child. Next year she’d be expected to begin fulfilling her role in their house, and here she was, sneaking about the manor and being told off with a key, like being given a late-night sweet.

She fingered the cool metal before slipping it into a small, hidden pocket in her nightgown. Finally, as they rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, Leena turned, and Kalia cringed at the incoming words, but the red slash across the maid’s throat made it hard for her to speak over the gargled blood. Kalia moaned an incomprehensible sound, stumbling back as the corpse hit the floor with a thump. She took another as the darkness in the hall shifted, revealing a tall, thin man, highlighted by two slices of moonlight.

“Ah, the daughter. I see-” he said, stepping towards Kalia, who felt the world shift and slow. Her eyes wild- the growing pool around her feet, the small, silver pin of crossed daggers pinned upon the stranger’s clean coat, the moon perfectly framed in the window. She saw a whisper of light, as the dagger swept towards her. She tried to turn, move, do anything, but she was so slow.

Pain filled her chest, then quiet in her mind. Red stained her short white fur, the dagger trailing drops of her life as it silently slipped back into the shadows in the hall, the man with it. The world was slow. She was quiet.

As the daughter’s vision rippled, she could only look unto the face of the distant, cold moon. As her head hit the floor, she could only seem to think one thought.

Who left the window open? How strange…

Nobody had ever heard Kalia speak.

And still nobody heard the small figure as it died.