Origami Narwhal
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The Puzzle Box - 2.10
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 13:50:23 +0000 UTCThe nights are growing. Stretching out, spreading their stars across the sky more with each day. When I arrived in Craumont, this time of day would see the Craumont Estate glow in the dusklight. Now, it is bathed in silver-white as I approach.
Doesn't stop me from going to the stables to grab some maple candy, though. The servant doesn't even try to stop me this time! Or try to escort me, which leaves me free to think and eat.
Good. That sweet stuff's delicious, and the dark isn't scary for a woman that can growl back at it. Maybe I'm not as intimidating to the darkness with only a green blouse and black trousers, but I do look good, so I'll allow it.
Smirking, I stroll up that path to the Craumont Manor, bathed in the waning moon's light. I munch on a candy, tail curled around my waist so I can run my claws along its length. The sound is soothing, almost meditative; it sends shivers up my spine and plucks at my worries.
There's... a lot, to think about. Enough for a cold pit of dread to settle in my stomach, maybe more than I can keep in my head. So I toss a candy in the air, hum, and let some words out.
“I don't even know why I'm here.” I admit to the stars, shaking my head. “Not really. There's the box, but Winston—”
The candy falls, my eyes follow. I stick an elbow out, swinging it right into the candy, and my prize drops into my waiting mouth. Heh.
I roll the candy around in my mouth with my tongue. Sweet and a little tangy, the way only the white-gold maple could be.
“—Winston hired me for the Delves. To help figure out why it's all happening. Ha,” I snort bitterly despite the delicious sugar melting on my tongue, “It all comes back to my parents. Or... it doesn't, but it feels like it does.”
My words drown in the night air, brisk and breezy. A flex of Wind is enough to break the chill before it digs deeper through my scales, but it can do nothing for the mysteries bouncing around my head.
The wards, the key, the contradictions... whatever's in that box, someone wants it. Same way that someone wants this city's wards weakened, even broken.
But why?
If the box is one of my parents' old tools, how many people would it hurt?
Or if the Delves cut deep enough, will the city just fall apart? Or will it drown in a wave of monsters, if I can't plug the portals first?
There's a connection to be made, and I don't like making it. I eat another candy, pushing the thought back before it drags me down with it. The darkest scenario, I'm sure.
“Adamantine, Goddess of Justice, Regent of the Sun, may you by your wisdom guide me,” the prayer rolls from my mouth with ease, even with months of disuse, “for the path ahead is fraught with shadows.”
I let my prayer hang, pushed along by a drop of magic. A tiny pulse of warmth answers me, a hand slipped under mine to accept the offering.
The moment ends with a clamor, a clinking of glass, and the soft creaking of an old door. Light pours out, stretching my own shadow back down the path, and a woman stands waiting at the front door.
“Amelia, dear, we really should stop meeting like this. I am the real guest here, am I not?”
“Hello, Elizabeth.” I reply, because who else could be that pretentious without sounding like a knife to my ears? “And you don't count. Didn't you try to sneak here on a train once?”
“Hmph! Nobody would believe you.” Elizabeth's grey eyes glitter in the dark, far too bright, and she gestures me in. “Come in then, cousin, before you spill more baseless accusations to the world, hm?”
That earns a chuckle as I climb the stairs. “Candy?”
Her eyes spark, and she runs a hand through her hair. White and green feathers peek out along the fringes, and she does her best dramatic eye-roll at me. “They say it's awful for our teeth, you know. Always have, there's just more proof for it.”
I shrug. “More for me then. Mine grow back, anyway.”
“Did I say I cared? Hand one over, you greedy lizard, you know it'll take more than that for me to grow out of this dress.”
It is a rather flattering dress, the deep green fabric pulled tight against her upper body and flowing out around the legs to allow more movement. I toss one at her underhanded, smiling the whole time.
She catches it with ease, her eyes never wavering from my own.
“Guess you're still Lizzie after all,” I grin, tail tapping along the path.
“Not for a refined audience, Ivy, and I'm furious I had to learn that one from Winston, that’s almost worse than the newspaper or a radio.” There's a sharpness to her grin that fails to dim my own. If anything, it makes mine stretch further. “Not that we have the latter, here. But you may call me that. Now, come, Winston is waiting. Let's get on before he drinks all the tea, hmm?”
***
When I last visited, there was... a tension, for lack of a better phrasing. A tautness, stretched thin like so many moments, pinned between expectation and machination. People I should know, motives I don't, and a thousand social niceties hooked to my back, aiming to make me a puppet.
At the time, though, I just found it irritating and occasionally enraging. The complexity of it is only arriving now that I have something to compare it against— against this, my nearest family relaxing in a practically sized dining room, with plenty of food and several bottles of wine.
“Ivy.” Winston says, running a hand against a horn. The other is twined thoroughly with Harriet's, and neither rises to greet me. “I'm glad you made it. We've much to discuss.”
And suddenly, the hooks have returned. Perhaps they never left. Something rumbles in my chest, but I quash it.
“Not before wine and food, my cousin! You called us here for entertainment, not business, and I intend to collect.” Lizzie chuckles, taking a breath. “Harriet, would you..?”
Harriet loosens his grip on his husband, using that same hand to flick him on the forehead. He offers me a smile, and I'm too busy stifling a giggle to return it. “Good evening, Ivy, I'm glad to see you in better circumstances. Winnie?”
Properly mollified— for now— Winston rubs his head and looks away. “Of course, love... and good evening, Ivy. We've missed you.”
“Is it bad that I enjoyed watching Harriet flick you?” I reply wryly, shrugging off the weight of the moment before and channeling it into a thump of my tail. “Sometimes you absolutely deserve it.”
I say it lightly, as gently as I can, but it's hard to keep it that way. I can still sense the hooks... but there's no point in dwelling, not now.
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do, Winston.” Lizzie barely lets Winston finish. She sweeps into the room, pulls a chair out, and drops into it with legs somehow already crossed. “The scheming gets to you. Now, I'd be more than happy to take those burdens off your shoulders...”
“Are you seriously trying to usurp his lordship?” Oh, Gods, I'm going to have trouble keeping the laughter down, it's pushing straight through my earlier mood. There's a chair obviously made for me, opposite Lizzie, and I take advantage. “Audacious! What about me?”
“She's been asking for years.” Winston replies drily.
“Three, in fact.” Harriet adds.
"You'd hate it, Ivy. Too much sitting, and you can't bite or brawl with anything." Lizzie smirks, holding her empty glass. "I'd be good at it, and Winston can finally visit the Wild Continent like Harriet wants.”
“Oh, I would loathe it. Me? Behind a desk?” I gesture in front of me, then lean forward to catch the wine bottle. “Absolutely not. Benny would do a better job. Harriet, how do you put up with my cousin?”
“Would you like a corkscrew?” Lizzie removes one from... somewhere, ignoring the nicer set on the table. “The butterknife can't quite saber the bottle.”
I pause, raise an eyebrow, and let a thumb shimmer to a claw. It digs in, Wind swirls, and the bottle pops open. “Why in the Gods’ names would I saber the bottle with a butterknife?”
“The steak knife would be better,” Winston muses. “Elizabeth, don't even try it. There’s much to do after dinner, and I’d rather not do it soaked in drink.”
“Oh, please. That'd ruin my dress.”
“Ahem,” Harriet interjects, clearing his throat. “We moved on from it, but I'd like to say that I do not put up with the love of my life.”
He punctuates his statement with a kiss on Winston's cheek, turning just enough to whisper in his lover's ear. Perhaps I could strain myself to hear it, but I see no reason to.
“I simply tell him when he's being a fool. Now, Ivy, I have some questions, but would you pour for us?”
“That he does.” Winston grins, returning the kiss. Damn lovebirds. “And yes indeed, let us have our wine and food first.”
Glasses are raised— improperly, but who cares— and I pour. Not a drop on the stew, not a cup overfilled, but I do pour myself two. Wine doesn’t quite work on me, and it wears off quickly, so I might as well indulge.
By the time I’ve filled my second glass, another wineglass has been raised. I eye it, and its owner, with great suspicion. “Lizzie. If you don’t want gossip about your reputation, drink more slowly.”
She looks at me, eyebrow raised in a rather familiar fashion, and raises her glass a little higher. “Ivy, dear, you’re not the only one with an enhanced constitution. Now, pour, I want to savor this glass.”
“Is tonight going to be that bad?” I grumble, leaning over to pour Lizzie a glass. Lizzie really does have the right of things with wine, unfortunately... and I already know the answer to my question. “We’ll need more than that to get drunk, if that’s your plan.”
“I’m right here, you know.” Winston’s protest goes ignored.
“You had a question, Harriet?” I say instead, focusing my attention on the wineglass in my hand. A deep, rich red... maybe in need of aeration. I swirl it a bit, holding the glass to the light so I can see its true coloration. The full bouquet of its scent follows, stirred by my movement; a fruity, flowery thing, tinged by oak and foreign spices.
I let magic flow to my tongue, grimacing as muscles twitch and twist. I can feel its new point brush against the inside of my lips, tasting and faintly smelling the wine. I'm being quite frivolous, aren't I? Changing my body to find what spices are in my wine. A little absurd, really, but that's definitely a hint of cinnamon and... vanilla? Vanilla.
“Several, I think,” Harriet muses, tearing me from my thoughts. Three pairs of eyes fix on him, enough for the man's cheeks to flush red. “Eh, hm. There's plenty of gossip about you, not that I give it merit. And then there's the way you spoke before the incident last week. It all paints you as...”
He hesitates, looking at me thoughtfully. I can see words churning behind his eyes, and I meet them with guarded curiosity. Is he here to accuse me of my temper? The distance I keep from normal humans?
“As what?” I speak my words carefully, letting my tongue return to its normal shape.
“Polite, but indifferent,” he says, finally, and my heart twinges. Why, though? That's exactly the face I intend to put forward.
“And your question is?” I respond flatly, flexing my tail until it wraps around the legs of my chair.
“How does this Ivy in front of me fit into that?” Harriet says, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Winston's expression goes from guarded to amused, and I can feel myself relaxing. Gods, did I really think Harriet would interrogate me over dinner? I suppose I did.
“You're, you're laughing, and showing off, and...” he gestures with a laugh, and his eyes gleam. Warmth radiates from him, tinged in excitement. “Opening wine bottles with a claw, just to show off. I like this Ivy more.”
I can't help but giggle. Just a bit.
“Oh she does love to show off,” Lizzie chimes in, leaning back in her seat. She swirls her wine and sips, humming. “Winston, dear, why don't you tell it?”
“Why don't I?” I cut in with a smile, baring my teeth. I take a moment to mull his question over; it's not something I really think about... and it's an easy way to stall out what comes after dinner. “A good one picked you, Winston. I think I might like him more.”
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. The sound drags a rumble from deep in my chest, and I let it hang.
“Thank you, Harriet. Truly.” My voice is soft, and I can't help but notice how Winston looks away. “I don't know if I have an answer for you. Why does Lizzie play the part of a pretentious noble, when she's really a mischievous rogue? It's easier, I think.”
“I'd rather be called a roguish noble,” Lizzie drawls, chuckling. “It makes me appropriately attractive to the people who I'd rather court.”
Harriet smiles at me. I smile back, and I hate how it wavers. “And thank you, Ivy. That can't have been easy.”
“Few things worth doing are easy.”
The words fall from my mouth, perfectly in time with Winston, with Lizzie only a heartbeat behind.
Olivia, my heart whispers, and Gods is it sore from tonight already.
Finally, thankfully, Winston clears his throat, raising his nearly empty wineglass. “To us, I suppose. I know we're not looking forward to what comes next, tonight, but...”
“To us.” Lizzie raises her glass, eyes crinkling strangely.
“To us.” I echo, and Harriet joins us a moment later.
Elizabeth downs the rest of her glass in one go, gray eyes flashing with an inner light. “And to a wonderful night, cousins and cousin-husband. Now, you simply must hear what the rumors are saying...”
“And here I thought we were supposed to be above such things,” I cut in, reaching for the bottle. I can already feel my magic burning away at the alcohol, clearing any haze before it forms. “What makes it more interesting?”
Winston sighs, setting his own glass down. “Elizabeth only brings interesting gossip, Ivy. And we could use the entertainment, yes?”
“Exactly, my dear,” Lizzie nods to Winston, “So, listen close. Apparently, the town over, their lord embarrassed themselves in front of a paladin...”
The food is delicious, the conversation is joyous, and the laughter is as loud as it is honest.
But the hooks are there, seeking purchase on my scales. The hooks are on all of us, I fear.
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