Capes and Quills- a collection of tales

  Staring down at her book, the Traveler gently turned each page. Tales of beasts, of sirens, of stars, of mice and of men, of ghosts and globes, of bugs and crows…of blooms and blossoms. The Traveler took a deep breath and pushed back her cloak slightly, the torn rags underneath being gently pushed and pulled by the night wind. She raised her quill for the final time, ready to write her own tale. The tale of ‘the Wilting Roses.’ ‘Once upon a time, in a cottage by a mountain, there was a kind, innocent daughter who was the older sister of two brothers, both of whom she loved dearly. Adored by her family, the girl was given everything she could ever dream of- two wonderful parents, a seamstress and an hourglass-maker, and two fun and sweet little brothers, one dramatic, and one shy. They all shared a room together, acting out stories and playing pretend, and would spend their days doing chores or making flower crowns. One strange day, though, the girl was sweeping snow from the door...

  The sea breeze pulled at the cloak of the Traveler, who breathed in the fresh air. The ocean air was always clean, and breathing it reminded her just how far she’d come. She’d regained the love of her family, even their ghosts had told her so, and reunited with the brother she’d denied for so long. Despite that, one hole in her heart still remained, and that was the hole left by Sarafelle’s death. Her unfinished vow would never be able to be spoken, as the girl was unable to tell her how much she loved her, but it seemed fate was cruel to them, keeping them apart no matter how hard they tried. She looked over at the dock, where a lone person was fishing, the Traveler noticing they were holding a small, childish rod. Unlike last time, no other rod lay nearby, so the Traveler just sat near the person, who was wearing a large hat and thus had indiscernible features. Nonetheless, the person gave a knowing smile, offering to tell a story that their father had told them, the tale of ‘t...

  The Traveler found herself walking down the path toward a familiar house, one with a large back garden and two floors, a small window overlooking the outdoors. It took her a moment, but she suddenly knew exactly where she was, feeling tears filling her eyes. She was home. She thought she saw a face in the window upstairs, but they were gone, and soon a man stepped outside, dressed in overalls and covered in wood shavings. He was a carpenter clearly, but as he stood before her, his eyes changed slightly. Staring down, they filled with tears, and he rushed toward her, tightly hugging her. Only then did the Traveler realize who was in front of her, burying her head in his shoulder. “Edwin…” she whispered, tightly throwing her arms around him and the man giving her a gentle embrace. Her youngest brother…he was so much bigger now, whilst she hadn’t changed a bit. She looked up at him, seeing the resemblance between his younger face and him now, even despite the fact he now had a moust...

  The Traveler continued down the path, finding herself by a large field of flowers and finding a girl sitting up on a fence, writing in some sort of notebook. Curious, she stepped closer, the girl giving her a smile and swinging her legs so that she was facing her. The fields behind were in bloom with forget-me-nots, reminding the Traveler of the promise she vowed to keep, and the girl in front of her turned her book around, revealing a drawing of a desk with plenty of fish and life surrounding it. She smiled down at the Traveler, who hopped up onto the fence beside her, the girl telling the tale of ‘the Writer’s Isle’ ‘There exists an island in the middle of a lake, surrounded by iridescent fish and rushing water, cherry blossom trees overlooking the desk which sits upon it. The place is decorated in lanterns and paper cranes, constellations etched into the sky above and glowing each night like jewels. It’s a solitary oasis, a place in which a writer can come to achieve peace and...

  Continuing to walk through the familiar town, the Traveler came across a young woman sweeping her steps, getting the sensation and wondering how to approach her. As the woman continued to clean, however, her wedding ring flew right off her finger, the Traveler rushing to retrieve it and handing it back to her, the woman beaming. “Thank you, young one.” She spoke, the Traveler giving a respectful nod and a smile in response. The woman stared down at the book the Traveler was holding, asking if she liked to read. Eagerly, the Traveler nodded, the woman leaning against her broom and giving a smile, offering to tell her a fantastic tale she heard the other night at the local tavern. With a smile, the Traveler opened the book, ready to write the tale of ‘the Magic Brush’ ‘Once, there lived an artist who had the ability to create anything she desired through the power of a magic brush. She painted the sky in all its brilliance, the sea with the depths and darknesses, and the land, deco...

  The Traveler continued to traverse, finding herself in a small town and noticing a girl sitting by a fountain, reading and absentmindedly feeding some nearby birds. She looked quite tired, but the Traveler got her familiar sensation and approached her nonetheless, sitting beside her and opening her own book, spotting an illustration mistake and correcting it. The girl beside her took a slight peek at her book, the Traveler giving a little smile and opening it properly so she could see, the girl gazing at the illustration of the boy surrounded by the swamp monsters. “They look like the monsters I see sometimes…” she whispered, the Traveler tilting her head slightly in curiosity. The girl rubbed her eyes from tiredness, and gave a weak smile. “You probably won’t believe me…” she yawned, the Traveler shaking her head. “Trust me…I’ve seen and been through some insane things…” she replied, her mind flickering between memories of Marcielle, Sarafelle and Calius, memories of her journey...

  Continuing on, the scenery began to get more and more familiar, though the Traveler wasn’t sure why. Perhaps she was taking an alternate route to a town she’d visited before? Though she was sure she had walked away from Sarafelle’s home, she still found herself in familiar locations. Regardless, she felt more free than ever, and managed to keep herself motivated to go and find the last few tales she needed. As she walked, she encountered a man who was sitting by a tree and playing some music, the Traveler stopping to listen. His guitar was etched with the initials ‘FFF’, which piqued her curiosity, and the man smiled, offering to let her try playing. The Traveler gave her best attempt, though the instrument was a little big for her, and plucked at the strings, the man showing her the best way to hold it and the hand positions needed to play a simple song. By the end of it, he’d taught her some basic strumming and how to play a melody, the Traveler recognizing it as the lullaby th...

  The Traveler continued down the path, finding herself by a tavern and deciding to enter, wondering if she could find a tale inside. She sat at the bar, the bartender smiling at her and offering her a free drink on the house, the Traveler merely asking for water and, with a cheeky smile, a good story. The bartender laughed at her request and decided to tell her a story whilst he prepared her drink, a simple and short one that he nonetheless still found beautiful. As the Traveler opened her book, he took a peek at the gorgeous calligraphy and illustrations, and smiled at the way she depicted people and monsters alike throughout. Turning to a fresh page, the Traveler pulled out a quill, preparing to transcribe the tale of ‘the Boat of Stardust’ ‘Long ago, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a young girl who owned a boat made of wood infused with dust made of the very essence of stars. Due to the magical property, the girl could sail for as long as she wished, as the wood would ...

  Wandering along the forest path, the Traveler came to a much calmer area along the path, where a little town lay. The Traveler found a small missing clog and picked it up, wondering if someone had dropped it. Heading into the town, she held it out so people could see it, and after a while, a woman came forward. “Oh, you found my daughter’s clog! Thank you, kind stranger.” She smiled, the Traveler giving a smile in response. “What can I do in return?” the woman asked, the Traveler getting her sensation and feeling a slightly wider smile creep over her lips. “Could you tell me your best story?” she asked, the woman being surprised but obliging nonetheless, leading her toward the edge of a riverbank and the two of them sitting on rocks, the woman telling the story of ‘the Untamed Feelings’ ‘Once upon a time, there lived a young girl who was born with plants and vines growing from her scalp alongside her hair. Various flowers and vines would bloom, entwining themselves with her hair,...

  The Traveler wandered down a path, in the opposite direction to where she would usually go. She came to another part of the city, meeting a snake charmer who was performing for a crowd. Growing interested, the Traveler watched the man in action, his melodies hypnotising the snake and causing it to curl upwards in a strange fashion, almost as if it were dancing. As everyone clapped, the performer finished his act and stood, offering to tell the masses a story before he began again. The Traveler and many others eagerly nodded, the snake charmer smiling and preparing to tell the tale of ‘the Tamer of Beasts’ ‘Once, there lived a young boy who had a magical whistle that he inherited from his grandfather. Every time the boy blew the whistle in front of a creature, it would obey him, the boy being able to tame even the fiercest and most frightening of monsters, creatures of night made of shadow now under the command of that small tin whistle. Snakes, boars, bulls were under his jurisdi...

  As the Traveler arrived in the city centre, the previous quiet was interrupted by the loud anger of several citizens, and the sound of stone. Moving closer to the source, the Traveler peeked round a street corner to see something frightening- a young girl, perhaps around her age or even a little younger, was being stoned in the square, bloodied and bruised and lying there on the floor. As the crowd continued to pelt her, they labelled her an unwanted daughter and a disgrace, words the Traveler became furious at. What right did any of them have to decide another’s worth?! It was one’s own decision to judge their worth and what they believed themself to be deserving of, and the judgement of another would have no power over oneself if they just had confidence and believed in themself. As the Traveler stared upon the girl curled up on the ground, she felt an intense pity, and watched the rocks beginning to slow as the crowd got bored, leaving the beaten girl face down in the street t...

  Arriving in another area of the city, the Traveler found a vendor who offered to tell stories in exchange for something, the girl trying to think what she could give. Luckily, her prayers were answered by the discovery of a lost coin, one that wasn’t worth much but it could still get her a tale. Handing it to the man, he stared at the younger girl and found himself wondering which of his many tales he could tell her, before finally settling on one. He took a breath and smiled, pushing open one of the many books on his table and showing her an illustration of a frightened girl pleading, eyes wide open and covered in four or five hands, all clutching and grabbing whilst she pleaded for them to stop. The Traveler already saw a similarity and became suspicious, but nevertheless opened her book, ready to write the tale of ‘the Terror of the Hands’ ‘Once, there lived a young girl who was cursed with a cruel ailment. Everywhere she went, a group of disembodied hands would follow her. No...

  The Traveler found herself close to a city, on the outskirts and in the company of several children, who were all playing in an alley. One of them suddenly threw a ball her way, which she deftly caught and returned, the little girl thanking her and walking toward her, now curious as to who the stranger was. The Traveler smiled down at her, despite everything, she still felt protective and caring toward those who were younger than her. As she stared at the child, the little girl walked back toward her friends, the group starting up a conversation all about transport, and the girl claimed she saw something amazing the other night, the Traveler becoming curious and listening to the girl tell the tale of ‘the Magical Balloon’ ‘Once, on a dark, cold night, a little girl peeked out of her window and stared up at the stars. Though there were many, she grew tired of counting them and instead gazed across the seemingly endless sea of buildings from the city further away, until something m...

  Days passed, the Traveler managing to get herself into a more regular sleeping pattern and distract herself from thoughts of Sarafelle, though she still shivered at the thought of her disembodied head. What had she done to deserve such a fate? By all rights she should be awaiting her at the cottage, where the two could spend their lives together in harmony, but fate hadn’t been so kind. The Traveler was without her Yin, and found herself wondering if there was another half out there somewhere. If life hadn’t wanted her to be with Sarafelle, who would she find? Would she ever find another lover? But one thing was certain- she’d never let herself be used and abused by anyone ever again, she owed herself that much. In her thoughts, she wandered into a new town and bumped into someone, a man wearing official clothing. He politely apologized, the Traveler getting her familiar sensation and watching as he forlornly headed in the opposite direction to her. Impulsively, she took his slee...

  Arriving in the next town, it seemed somewhat familiar to the Traveler, and she wondered if she’d been here before. She found herself by a large field, where a bucket lay, and her feet led her to a home, despite her confusion. It felt familiar, but her head was too clouded by the recent events for her to remember. Her gaze was drawn, however, to a young man, with bright, happy eyes, seeming to carry an air of happiness wherever he went and filling the atmosphere with joy. He waved at her slightly, approaching, and asked if she was new to town, offering to show her around. He then noticed how weary and starved she looked and insisted she come into his home. Alongside his wife, they set up a spare bed and gave her a plentiful meal, allowing her to take any leftovers they had on her travels and giving her the softest quilt they could find in the house. Their kindness definitely reminded her of someone, and the boy seemed to be curious about her too, deciding to tell her of a strange...

  The Traveler arrived in a beautiful set of gardens, though decorated by snow due to how cold it had gotten. She spied a lone beekeeper amongst the expanse of white, a man trying to ensure the bees were all safe in their boxes and brushing snow away from them to try and keep them warm. Though unafraid of the creatures, the Traveler kept her distance, getting the familiar sensation. Fifteen more…it felt as if the shackles were loosening with every step she took, the girl feeling a new sense of optimism amid her tired and pained thoughts. She still was struggling to sleep, being plagued by questions concerning Sarafelle, her ghost, and how she failed to honour her promise, but also remembering she still had to apologize to her brothers and was so close to her goal, so she couldn’t give up yet. Stepping forward, the beekeeper noticed her presence, before a beautiful bird suddenly flew in front of him, surprising him. And yet under the hood, she could see a smile on his face, making h...

  Arriving in yet another town, the Traveler had to remind herself of why she started this. She had wanted freedom from Marcielle, but he was gone now, so technically she was trying to earn freedom from Calius, freedom over her autonomy as he was the King and could rule over her every action if he so pleased. Marriage was a contract, and Calius was the law, so she was earning freedom from her iron binds. Only sixteen tales more, and she would be free. And she had no idea what she would even do. She was lost, like a sailor out to sea or a butterfly without direction, or a doll that had not yet been wound. That’s right…she was no longer his doll. He couldn’t touch her anymore. And that thought uplifted her slightly. Even though she missed Sarafelle sorely, she felt as if a weight had been lifted now that Marcielle was gone. There would be no more negative contact…and even if she couldn’t feel Sarafelle’s kind touches anymore, there was a future awaiting her. Though it was full of unk...

  After a week of walking up one of the mountains, the Traveler finally reached a new town, where she was greeted by a kind man who offered her some food. She had completely forgotten to eat, and couldn’t sleep, so she appreciated the respite, the two sitting on a bench and watching as the snow started to fall. Her gaze drifted toward a large cluster of trees, all being decorated and lit by candles, and the man explained that the trees were to guide the angels who brought them presents once a year. Sensing a tale, the Traveler opened her book, ready to write the tale of ‘the Gift-Giving Angels’ ‘Once a year, a small village is lit up in thousands of candles and decorated with trees, to guide the angels that fly over it and leave gifts for every resident. They know what each person wants and desires, and leave their gifts in the doorways, where they will receive them when morning comes. Though the angels are seen and cheered for each year, there was one year when only one of them ap...

The Traveler walked, numb, through towns and villages alike, regaining where she was and ignoring the friendly greetings she got from people she’d previously met. She felt nothing within her soul, and her only comfort was the hundred tales. Eighteen more, and then she would be free. But what was she even meant to do anymore? She’d been relying on that future with Sarafelle, and if it could no longer exist, what was she meant to do with her life? Was she to rot in a house somewhere, alone and isolated until she died of starvation or sickness? Was she to give herself up to the nobles, to the men and their selfish, cruel desires that would taint every inch of her skin and leave her with nothing of her own, like Butterfly had? Or was she to move on, to find a new source of joy? That seemed impossible now. She wandered onwards, before finally coming to a new place, where a chimney sweep was working outside, accidentally getting some soot on the Traveler. She apologized and tried to clean it...

  The Traveler found herself in a larger village as the afternoon approached, the area shaded by the tall, imposing buildings. She pulled her hood up slightly and walked amongst the crowds, before hearing footsteps approaching her and turning. She noticed the pink hair almost immediately, becoming tense but not as afraid as usual. She knew her worth now, she knew how much Sarafelle loved her, how many people had come to appreciate her throughout her journey, how many lives she may have changed and how many people she encouraged. But then, she noticed something strange. Slung around Marcielle’s body was a large pouch, tied with a strap that went from his shoulders all the way down to his waist. Clearly, whatever he was holding was quite heavy, but he seemed undeterred. She glared at him as he smirked, a few passerbys stopping to watch the ensuing conversation, sensing an air of importance to the knight in front of them. As he approached the Traveler, he held out his arm and his crow...

  The Traveler walked through the town until she came to a stand, in which an archivist was writing down something she’d been told. Transcribing each and every word, she finally finished and looked up at the girl, having not noticed her previously and being slightly startled. She then had a thought, pulling out a drawing and asking the Traveler if she may have seen the person depicted, as she’d lost a close friend some time ago. The Traveler gazed at the drawing, knowing the face was familiar, before suddenly remembering the marketplace and the bejewelled boxes around. She nodded. “I saw her in the marketplace in one of the towns further away. She was waiting for a rich noble.” she stated, the scribe’s eyes going wide in fear. “No, that can’t be true. She was awaiting me!” she cried out, the Traveler stepping back slightly and trying to resist the urge to shrink down into her cloak. No more hiding from confrontation, though. She stood her ground and the archivist calmed, looking at...