The Source

The attendant turned and nearly ran towards a hallway to the left of the golden doors. The hall was completely tiled in azul blue stone and every three feet was a painting. Each painting was different but all of them captured a single strawberry. The hallway lead to a giant room with and arched ceiling that was at the end of the hall, he turned again, and Troova found herself in another hallway. It was painted black with splatters of neon blue, green, pink, and purple. The floor was lined with black lights that made the white in Troova's dress shine. At the end of this hall, her guide stopped, turned toward the wall and began talking. Confused, Troova moved closer and suddenly she could see the thin man that had painted himself black to blend into the wall. The attendant stopped talking when she approached and the thin, painted man gaped at her, his mouth slightly ajar. Uncomfortable with the attention, Troova looked down and shuffled her feet.
Realizing his rudeness, the thin man straightened and cleared his throat. He looked at the attendant for a long moment then turned toward the wall and lifted a latch on an unseen door. A pale, peach-tinged light flooded the dark hallway as Troova was ushered through the door. While her eyes adjusted, she heard the door closed behind her and hurried steps in her direction.
"Malcolm," the attendant said, "go quickly to the Zodiac room and tell Lord Asa to come here immediately."
"He's in the middle of a hosting Nax, you know I can't interrupt him."
"Then wait until he's finished, then bring him here."
Malcolm, a rotund man with ferret like eyes and a fixed frown, stared at Troova with open mistrust.
"What's going on Nax?"
Nax, disregarding his question said, "When you see Lord Asa tell him...." he walked over to Troova and took her hand. "...tell him The Source has come."

And I heard a whisper...

She had of course, heard many things about Grace Flame Castle, but to see it was to feel its magnificence. It was as though it was built by its history. The sun-bleached stone walls pulsed with victory, boasting at the scars they received from century after century of war. Its' seven towers housed the king's seven sorcerers and an occasional sparkle of magical light would fill up the windows. At the very center of the castle was a giant bronze dome. It was pocked with groupings of holes that made up the sky's constellations. At the top of the dome rose a long spire that dug deep into the sky, its end lost amongst the clouds.
"We must proceed Miss or we will be late."
"Oh! Sorry, sir." Troova blushed and then lengthened her stride to catch up with Purple Face.
As they approached the entrance, Troova gasped in awe. The massive gold-plated doors she walked through were covered in mystic symbols that shimmered with a thousand different colors and whispered in a foreign tongue. Some symbols were larger than others and whispered louder than the symbols surrounding them. Troova touched the door and immediately pulled back. An imprint of her hand burned in blue then faded slowly into the door. Her palm was either ice cold or burning hot, she couldn't decide, but as she looked at it, it glistened white briefly before returning to normal.
"Excuse me, sir? What are the doors saying?"
The attendant stopped and turned to look at her. His eyes were narrowed and his tiny mouth was slightly open.
"You-you heard the doors speak?"
"Yes", Troova said nervously, "is that bad?"
He approached her and leaned over closely. "What did they say?"
"I don't know. I-I couldn't understand their language".
He stared at her for a brief moment and put his hand on her shoulder.
"What is your name Miss?"
"Troova, sir. Troova Hollifax".
A shocked look waved over his pudgy face. He stood quickly and looked down at her with urgency.
"Well then. Come with me quickly, Miss Hollifax", he took a deep breath, "She'll want to know you've come."

Arrival

The extravagence of the carriage overwhelmed Troova. The interior was a riot of colors and cushions. She was asked by the coachman to please take a seat, and did so with pleasure for the cushions were overstuffed with goose feathers and covered in delicate silk. The coachman handed her a cup of hot chocolate smothered in whipped cream and topped with shavings of dark and white chocolate. On the seat next to her was a box of an assortment of her favorite candies with a note that said: "Birthday Wishes From The Seven" and was scralled with what she supposed were signatures.

The carriage started off with a slight jolt that caused Troova's nose to be blanketed by whipped cream. As she was consumed by her delicious beverage, she hadn't noticed the man sitting across from her.
"Oh! Hello sir."
"Hello Miss", he gave a quick nod in greeting and then looked out the window with a blank expression. Troova took in his appearance with interest. He was a stout man of middle-age with a round purple-hued face, and he breathed heavily like he could never quite get enough air. His yellow coat stretched awkwardly over his protruding belly, while his stick legs were clad with purple tights. He very nearly resembled and Easter egg with legs.
"Excuse me, but are you to be my attendant?" Troova implored.
"Yes, Miss. I will be your guide to, through, and from the castle." He once again turned his purple face to the window.
Before she could comment on his lack of conversation skills, the carriage stopped and Troova's nervousness returned.

Quite suddenly, they had arrived.

Lucky 13

At the sound of her mother's voice she hopped out of bed and tied her tattered pink robe around her with a meaningful tug. The closer she got to the kitchen, the more she was consumed by the smell of fried eggs, garlic potatos, biscuits, bacon, and blueberry muffins. It was her birthday breakfast.

She stopped just short of the kitchen and peeked around the corner to spy on her mother. She was swaying gracefully to Vivaldi's 'Concerto for Two Mandolins'. Her tone legs told tales of worn out ballet slippers and extravagant costumes all in the name of dance. Her golden hair permitted a breeze from the back door to lazily toss it around her cheeks and frame her soft brown eyes.

"Good morning Mama."

"Good morning starshine!"she exclaimed as she turned to her daughter. "Happy birthday! Here's your plate. Eat quick like because the carriage will be here soon and you still have to get dressed."

"Carriage? I'm going away?"
"Yes Troova. It's your thirteenth birthday! I told you about this, remember?"
"Yes, but I didn't think I had to leave you to get 'hosted'. What does that mean Mama?"
"You'll see! You'll see!" she smiled. But it was a strange smile that didn't fully met her eyes.
"But I'm scared!" Troova said.
"The only thing you have to be afraid of is the unknown, and that alone won't hurt you. Now eat up!"

Nervously Troova ate while thinking of possible situations that a hosting consisted of. But before she was allowed to let her mind wander, her mother reminded her to get dressed.

"Have you seen my star?"

Behind the eyelids of the sleeping woman her life flashed. Every moment, every pain, every whisper of love and every hard earned truth....finally at peace, her dreams served as narrators, calmly telling the story of her life.

**********

It was late. Much too late for young girl to be dancing under the stars. A million warm yellow lights swam in the dark sky like flaming gold fish. She spun slowly in her favorite red dress weaving her hands in the yellow grass. Despite the darkness of night, the tall grass sparkled by the light of the heavens. Her bare feet absorbed the cool dirt and her eyes were closed. She breathed in the promise of rain while a light breeze combed through her cinnamon hair.

"Then there was a star danced, and under that was I born" she quoted while gently colliding with the ground in a satisfied slump.

She was watching the stars move when suddenly a pair of brilliant green eyes and the soft face of a boy claimed her view. His wild dark hair surrounded his face and had blades of grass weaved indiscriminately through it.

"Have you seen my star?" he asked.
"You own a star?"
"Of course. Don't you?"
"No."
He paused to give her an odd look.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Twelve."
"Oh. You haven't been hosted yet" said the boy slightly swaggering.
"What's 'hosted' mean?"
"When's your birthday?"
"In five days."
Smirking with superior knowledge the boy replied, "Then you'll find out in five days."

A white-bearded fellow

The fire breathed in and out happily in the hearth while the old man curled his socked toes in the weight of the warmth. His well-kept white beard clothed a strong jaw and determined, but pleasant mouth. He sat quietly reading a book by an anonymous author. Occasionally he would glance at the young woman sitting next to him in a matching high-backed chair. Contentment was her air and love blushed her cheeks.

"How are you, child?" the man's voice was soothing and strong.
"Better and better each moment." she replied.

His beard crinkled with a wide smile.
"I'm glad you're home."
"I'm glad I finally found you." Was her answer. At peace, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

"Sleep child. It's been a long journey." Silently he covered her with a thick blanket and kissed her brow.