Old Faces, New People

A faint glimmer of dawn wipes across Lyra’s face. She wrinkles her nose to nudge it off as if it were a pesky insect. The promise of another day has begun, meaning a fresh start to be ‘good’. She twists to lay upright, concentrating on her ceiling. In her mental agenda there were: maybe a few dozen pointless meetings, healing sessions, reports to review, and possibly another awarded conference for just being ‘a hero’. She rolls to her other side facing away from the sun's ray. Knowing that withering away on this mattress may seem a great idea but would accomplish nothing. Choosing to conquer today, she whips the covers off, twirls her energies to fix her blankets and pillows, and proceeds to get dressed.

Her choice in wardrobe consisted of a noir, sleeveless turtleneck, tucked into a smoky grey skirt just above the knees, and a breathable sweater coat that matched her skirt color. She slips on a pair of accommodating boots and goes on to wash up before she goes on down for breakfast. Her hair remained brushed back, floating behind her as she trotted downstairs with a kick in her step. In their exact same spots as last night were her brothers, polished and shined for the brand new day of summer. Breakfast was just being set down before them; a little pile of scrambled eggs, a few italian sausages, and buttered white toast. She sat herself eagerly, inhaling the stomach bubbling meal, a smile graced her face. The minute her utensils set in the food it was halted.

“So, what did he send you?” Fane suddenly blurted, gathering a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Medus promptly intervenes the rudening question, knowing it’d spike their sister’s day. His fist thumped onto the table rattling their cups of tea.

“Fane! That is something that can be discussed if she chooses to bring it up.” He scolds his younger sibling, Fane switches his attention to begin a nasty outburst. Lyra knew she had to diffuse the situation at once.

“It's fine Medus, I’m sure all of you are wondering anyways.” She says, “It was just a flower.” she mumbles. To which all three of her brothers express unique reactions. Medus nodded sipping from his cup, Fane furrowed his brows stuffing even more food into his teeth, and Jac just rolled his eyes.

“Sounds like him” Fane gargled through his chomping abyss. His table manners were sure to never be perfected.

“Just the flower? There was no note?” Medus asks now, curious himself.

“Nope, just a yellow chrysanthemum.” She answers, taking a nip of her toast. She finally dug in herself. Fueling her body for the beginning of the day, leaving her two older siblings with more questions than answers. She noticed they didn’t quite keep up with her pace of chewing and swallowing. “What?”

“I mean.” Medus started. “He was always poetic that way but figured he would’ve left a note.”

“The flower is the note.” Jac interrupts from his chair. He almost flinches from all eyes turning to him. “Yellow chrysanthemums are a symbol of neglected love or sorrow. He is signifying that he obviously still fancies you Lyra.” He honestly perspects. The answer itself stains Lyra’s face, her lips curl into her teeth. Medus, the only brother that has a real understanding of the past relationship, worries she might have a set back to this. He watches her intently waiting for her response. When she didn’t say anything he spoke up.

“If you are feeling too overwhelmed by the gesture. You can reschedule everything today. Not like most of the meetings are a big deal.” Medus reassures her, finishing up his plate.

“No, let's just drop it. I’m fine, really.” She places her silverware neatly over the empty part of the plate. Losing her appetite all together again, she ate half at least. Her chair drags back allowing her to leave. Medus mirrored her actions and followed. “Please be safe and wear your helmet in climb and seek if you are throwing rocks, Jac.” she dashes to the front door, Jori already holding out her bag. She nods curtly, taking it and exits Migorin Manor.

Once they were settled in the back of the family car; a 1988 Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit. A heavy tone set the car, Medus knew her mind was boggling with ways to interpret how breakfast went wrong. He wasn’t quite sure how to lighten up her now dull composure. Yet he knew he had to make sure she was really okay underneath all that plated armor.

“I know that you know we all felt your quake last night.” He says, eyeing his sister across the car. “You have always been so well keeping things in. Just don’t keep them from us, from me as well.” He pauses a moment, allowing her to voice any regards. She only leaned her elbow onto the window watching the manors drift by. “Are you okay Lyra? Truthfully.” he asks.

Her eyes only darted to him and back to the window. “You would know if I wasn’t.” she continues her day dreaming outside the metallic running mobile.

Now arriving in downtown Chicago at the portable zone (enchanted areas that hide almost as mirages), the driver opens their door. As they climb out, the driver wishes them a good day. Medus and Lyra walk side by side into a normal looking office building that is a few stories high with a long antenna. They walk through an extravagant, open, iron and wood work lobby, with huge capsule shape lights hung from place to place. Clearly there was no entrance for anyone that is natural (every entrance is lined with salted gravel to detect bloodline). As soon as the siblings were mid lobby a small buzz of assistants crowd the two. Mainly for Medus to give optional rundowns of his day, requests to add or decline, and much more. Lyra nods to him to part ways taking different elevators, evaporating them to different locations. Medus would most likely be in four different states before lunch. Lyra on the other hand will remain in Chicago handling domestic affairs on his behalf.

Her office was near the top aligning with the other skyscrapers of the city. Their building, from an illusionist's eye a towering building but to a naturals it is merely a little radio station center. She could look over the many spectacular views of the city. Doesn’t make all the paperwork so bad. Her interior design had a homey yet studio feel. Her corner walls were entirely glass, aligned with onyx metal bars. A little too big fitting a blue fabric, tufted sofa against an orange-white dusted brick wall. Her desk was a double pedestal, cluttered with the previous days paused work, and a simple multi colored light. The wall behind it was bare white with a small billboard.

She sighs, setting her bag on a hook as well as her coat. She pulls the messy pile of papers from her bag and goes to sit at the desk. Lyra never really spends time here unless she needs to escape or actually get through the daily paperwork. As a matter of fact her position in this bureaucracy is a newly appointed one. It was sprung by Medus himself, since he is head of all illusionists. After the war he knew it to become his duty to rebuild the ruins of an old rule. Not even four years have passed and they are still recovering. She had to handle departments of investigations, organization of law, relocation of dark illusionists, and much more. Not even a few minutes tick by as she scopes over the newly revised border plans when a floating blow horn appears.

“Lady Migorin, your seven-thirty conference will be commencing soon.” one of her secretaries alerted through a frequency (voice sending magic, form depending on circumstances and individual). She nods allowing it to vanish away. Another sigh and she’s off.

Through a few zig zaggy halls she meets a few border officials. They have been managing themselves the past two years, given much more details had to be sorted out ‘legally’. After the war the borders have been set back tremendously. The cause of this was the leakage of natural witnesses, deaths, and torturings. Not that the disaster of their world means any less but the rehoming has taken a toll on villages along those regions. Lyra realized she hadn’t overlooked the paperwork last night. She was completely unprepared for the entire meeting. They cross checked, signed, negotiated, and argued for the entire hour. It couldn’t be helped how pressing the matter was, those illusionists have been ridiculed to refugee resources. Lyra had centered her whole heart into it, she knew exactly where they were and how they were left. She could still trace the burning of sulfur along with echoes of agony. Anything that heard of unequal resolutions she shut down entirely.

“Lady Migorin, the levels of other rims would be over crowded. Moving the refugees into sections higher than their own. It could cascade mountains of debt.” An aged stability illusionist (one who helps circulate healthy running of leveled economy) voiced from beside her. She figured that considering his age he would be for the old rule. She reigned in her fury and demanded otherwise.

“Illusionist lives don’t have prices, Sr Ultinbrun.” She had to shake a breath to calm herself even more. “Lord Medus statured our newcoming peace on this point. We are no longer lesser than or higher than because of blood but equal.” She states for the record, all border officials bow in agreement.

Sr Ultinbrun had been in the bureaucracy for thousands of years. He was a friend of their parents for three hundred and twenty. He was as stern as her youngest brother but in all the wrong ways. His body completely draped in a dark coffee, wool, meditation robe. His face creases of time, hair slicked back into a neat braid, a pepper fluff short beard from ear to ear, and glassy cobalt eyes. Despite his prejudiced beliefs he was a great friend. Even helped conquer the dark illusionists of the war. It didn’t mean he was really all good.

For the remaining duration of the meeting he sat quietly. Clearly overruled by the council it was decided that next sun rising will start the apparition of new whereabouts for the refugees. This will take at least two months to gather donated resources, illusionists homes aren’t built blandly as naturals’ homes. It was complex work in stirring personal features, just as a child bares parents' features. A home to illusionists was an extension to who their family, beliefs, and ‘wealth’ is. Not to mention all its properties that were enchanted inside. For the refugees resources may be limited but it would still be their own. Once signed by all members most of everyone in the room evaporated away.

Lyra felt a sense of dread heave from her shoulders. Another good deed done for the sake of all illusionists. Then it was straight into another meeting, one she’d be briefed about on the way there. It wasn’t as crucial as the one she was just in, just some meddling with enforcement of new laws. After that it was pin tracing leaks of discoveries, then totalling out food shortages in certain regions, and permitting any marriages to naturals so on and so forth. All in completion by one fifteen. Lyra skimps to her office and lands face down on her couch. Finally left alone to her own thoughts, thankfully which were of food. But the painstaking effort to get up and do so was overlooked. Lyra grudgingly rolls off the side of the couch and gets back to her feet. She decided to take a stroll in town to eat. She felt her stomach groggle for a sandwich maybe even with some soup. She gathers her coat and bag and proceeds to exit the building.

In a shopping center surrounded by a few corners was a perfect cafe that the sign read in maroon cursive: Brewing Kimpley Corner. A very nostalgic place where the Migorins ate plenty of times. It was a dated corner building. A few white, french alike tables outside under the patios. A second floor trimmed with vines and flowers that never die. Lantern candles that burn every hour of every day. Inside all cedar stain wood platforms, stain glass ceiling of yellow and red with green vine swirls, and plenty of seating arrangement of; booths, tables, and a bar. The heavy fog of coffee beans spike her cheeks pleasantly. She seats herself in a corner table overlooking the street. A frequency appears in the form of a yellow notepad and pencil.

“Need time to look at the menu dear?” a mature voice clearly belongs to a woman asked from it. Lyra shook her head and began ordering.

“Just the roasted turkey, american style, add avocado to it please. With a small bowl of the original soup please.” As she ordered the pencil wrote in a spasming way “And just a water for the drink.” she finishes, the pencil flips crazily again writing.

“Coming right up sweetie.” It responds before vanishing in a puff.

As she sat waiting, watching the ongoing groups of illusionists, she couldn’t help but picture her family among them. This was in fact a famous corner of illusionist Illinois. Alcove Quarry, it expanded only a few streets of Chicago. If you enter in the right places you’ll only be in the illusionists dimension. So there were no naturals here. It was where she shopped for Murkwan Prep when she turned ten, as did everyone else who lived here. Anything an illusionist would buy here couldn’t be found in a naturals shop. These sort of areas always made Lyra feel so whimsical, proud to be who she is, where she is.

When her food was served by an actual illusionist she broke contact with the glass. She chowed down on her warm sandwich, some avocado pieces slipping out the other end. It wasn’t any rush especially for the rest of the last few hours’ agenda. She met daily with a healer, again to do with the wars. Somethings despite mentally never heal right especially dark illusionist curses. Lyra felt her lower abdomen slink, the imprints were acting up again. One thing after another she thought to herself. It had been two weeks since she felt it’s revolting consciousness. She finishes her American style and moves onto her soup. As she did she went back to window watching, savoring it’s hot burly vegetable ingredients. It didn’t take much to finish, as she sat letting her meal settle the same illusionist came back. Lyra reached for her bag pulling a few iron pieces from it.

“Oh no, your meal has already been paid for.” the young woman waves her hand to dismay payment. Lyra squints confused.

“Uhm, by who?” she asks, very befuddled by the kind gesture.

“A man earlier, had darkish blonde hair.” she explains glancing back into her recallment. “Wait, are you Lady Migorin?” the waitress asks, fully taking Lyra into view. Lyra winced dreading these kinds of encounters.

“Yes, please if I may. Don’t make a fuss about it.” Lyra urges taking a quick search around the cafe. The waitress did too and leaned in closer.

“Yes of course, it's just.” she pauses, her cheeks tinting to a rose. “You’re my hero.” she compliments. It sinks all of Lyra’s organs as battleships, everyone around Jac’s age had always called her their hero. Never could she be fret about that, especially in these delicate times. She reaches into her bag and opens her notebook to a blank piece of paper. She mumbles an incantation of her face and signature onto it, rips it out, and hands it to her. The waitress would have exploded in fireworks. “Thank you so much.” she whisper-shouts with a toothful smile. Lyra nods her head and gets to her feet for the millionth time today. She barely took a step until she moved back to ask her one last thing.

“The man, what else could you recall about him?”

“He uh, he had a scar near his right eye.” she explains further recalling him. “Still quite handsome in my opinion but he left before you finished ma’am.” she finishes turning back to stare at her new gift.

There it was again, the slinking, but this time more heatedly. It was imperative as if to be a force with a mind of its own. Lyra remained composed and continued to leave Kimpley’s. She knew exactly who the waitress was picturing. It wasn’t even creepy because she knew they ate here many times together. She assumed he was on his way out when he saw her, they always ate upstairs for dates before. Now she was fighting her inner self to not rekindle old memories again. This time afraid to break more than just a shower door. Not even a whole day swung around from her last quake. You need to get a grip Lyra she shouted into her oblivion. The few minute walk never felt so spitefuly infinite. Back onto her designated floor her secretary physically stood to inform her of sudden news.

“Lady Migorin, you have an outstanding request. I just received it a few minutes ago.” She fumbled over from her desk following her to the door.

“I’ll look it over later Nadine.” she haggles, reaching for the door knob.

“I’m sorry but it is from a Voltrin.” she informs, the name again distasting her once delectable lunch. Pausing Lyra’s every muscle movement. Nadine senses this flinching unnervingly even more than she was as an illusionist. “Would you, prefer I... throw it away?” she asks with a drip of fear in her tone. Lyra just held her hand out to receive the parchment. Nadine places it gently, takes a step back, and bows.

“Thank you Nadine, please don’t worry.” Lyra assures her, attempting to be as gracious as possible. Followed by the lock of the door.

She slunks into her chair recollecting how her day had taken this eminent shift. All because of a face she hasn’t seen in three years. Hearing his name rattling her very core, as an earthquake splitting a fault. She had to compile some more strength to even read what was actually written. Her fingers lace over the wood pulp sheet along the black inked cursive name. Down to its sealment her nail digs under the cherry bright wax, the Voltrin emblem imprint on top. Her simple tug pops it open, no turning back now. The lower half unfolds revealing the message.

Lady Migorin,

As upon the returning of Voltrin heirs so has the festivities. The world where we have come from has healed up far better than anticipated. As in congratulations of summer, it is the Voltrin’s honor to invite the Migorin family to an impending ball.

By next week's end, we hope to see you soon.

The tissue slips down her fingers to the desk. Unsure if the pit that formed in her stomach was relief or disappointment. Then there it was again in reaction, the imprints slinking around under her navel. She had to get to the healers right then. She slips the note into her bag, sends a firefly frequency to her secretary, notifying she’ll be away. She then dissipates into hundreds of glowing fireflies. Flowing off into thin air.

Lyra’s healer, Melita, was a lovely woman, just a few years shy of fifty. Her hair was a cotton mess of frost, tied by a lilac ribbon all the time. Her robes were always twisted, never overlapped right. She found it to be the most extraordinary honor to be the healer of a Migorin. Over the years as Lyra presumed to have been healing up, she considered her as a motherly substitute. Their meetings were always another safe haven for her, other than her siblings she saw the delicate mess she can morph into. This one about to occur though, would be as riveting as the beginning. Melita was in the middle of mixing different substances when the crash of fireflies mush onto her old wooden floor. She gasps in shock, the entire room rocks faintly, Melita spins around to find the shredded flying critters mutate back into Lyra. She was feebly lying there cradling her stomach. Melita instantly went to her.

“Dear child, what has happened!” Her arms envelope under and over her, pulling her up. As she did her unique energies spark, perceiving where the fracture of energies were accumulating. “Alright, you know the drill. On your back, I know it hurts.” she coaxes her softly, Lyra winces laying flat. Melita pulls her shirt from under her skin tight skirt. Revealing an irritated tangle of follicle flare. The sight of it alone antagonized Melita. “Wretched doing! And all for what?” referring to the demonist who casted this onto her.

She huddles her hands over the infection. Murmuring to herself most likely of anger, her palms gleam a fluorescent amber. In order to extinguish not just the flare but also the embedding. She had to deroot what had tremendously developed overnight. Back to the first time this has happened it was not the most comforting feeling, in the literal sense she felt it to be (what she imagined) close to natural birth. The moment the first leeching root snapped off, her own energies kicked into instinct. Forcibly charing at the ends of all the others. Lyra’s anguish howling began emphatic and soon reduced to minor whimpers. Melita on top of her work was thankful to have eased her through this quickly. Though she could sense as to why after almost four years, her curse decided to flare back up.

“I’ve told you, if you chose to forever run from this part. It will never fully heal.” Now all the squirming worm like infestation was hexed into an enchanted mason like jar. Melita’s energies were glowing a white. As a doctor stitching up a ghastly open wound, only without anesthetics. “I heard he has been back, I only assumed he announced it today.” she eyes Lyra who was just gazing at all her different shape and color compartments of different potions.

“You derooted it, means it will finally be gone right?” she asks meekly, a hopeful glint in her eye. Melita pursed her lips to a straight line, her expression was enough for words.

“You know it is not that simple, child. I know as well you do, that boy still lives somewhere in you.” not that she had to really explain “Whether you face it or not, it won’t heal until you come to terms with whatever you truly feel.”

Lyra sort of figured it be that way. It almost felt bashful to even think that this would be over just like that. What she truly did fear was not him but herself. Knowing deep down that why she became this way was entirely her, not him. Not that she would even ever admit it. She sniggers to herself turning her head back up. Melita’s work was just about finishing up.

“Is it pathetic Mel?” Lyra asks smoothly, refraining from crying “Me being this way when I chose it?” her voice almost failed to stay clear. Melita’s energies reduce back into her palms, her face again expressing a sorrow.

“I think you were doing what you felt was right.” she responds “It doesn’t mean things can’t change. Keep your mind open, child.” Melita voiced her advice so well, that it sounded as if she yearned to say it forever. “Should I call for Medus? Travelling by familiar and having a derooting is all too much in one go.”

“Just call for Fane, I’m sure he’s not doing anything.” Lyra sits up tensing her muscles. Melita swirls her pinky, a cotton fluff expanding into a cat dashes away.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Melita asks, returning to her table now blending a new concoction. “Have you seen him?”

“That’s the thing, I didn’t. I really think I should figure it out myself.” She answers both questions, tucking her shirt back into her skirt.

“Well remember, keep your mind open, think things through.” Her maternal side was always so useful. Even if she didn’t have to be. “Drink this.” Melita comes back around, a cooking mess left on the table. She held out a vial of clear liquid.

“Help with the pain again?” Lyra asks, she takes it anyway.

“I know you can deal with it but why if you don’t need to?” she mocks teasingly, a goofy giggle sounds from her throat. Lyra just shoots it back loathing its metallic shock onto her tongue.

As the girls got to talking about more mediocre topics a while. A hand bell chime echoes through the formidable shack. Melita aids Lyra down the stairs to the lobby. Fane’s posture wobbled with anxiousness, his eyes falling directly onto her. When he saw no signs of serious contemplations he eases himself. Coming to his little sister’s aid to get to the car.

“Thank you Ms. Gillurt, I can take her from here.” Fane sways an arm around her shoulder, leading her the rest of the way out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Mel.” Lyra hails from over her shoulder.

“Take care child!”

The car ride home allowed her stomach to dampen. Jac was in the car as well, though he wasn’t expressful his head on her lap was all she needed. She was combing his hair with her fingertips. Fane the questionnaire had to be sure she was okay from it also to know what happened, also to know what would be for dinner. Medus almost familiar’d himself over there as well, he was in New York rounding up some resources for the borders. Fane made sure he finished his work so he could be home for dinner. Along the way Lyra stays still going over what her and Melita discussed about Voltrin. Keeping the mind open didn’t sound so fun to her, Jac with his unique energies had sensed her mood. He thought it to be better to let her deal with it, given the frail circumstances. As the open prairies shift into small townships then finally lakefront neighborhoods. Luno Maro rolls in. Lyra feeling a hundred percent again allowed the boys to get out first. They wanted to get some screen time in before dinner. Lyra watched as they crashed through the doors clumsily.

The driver shut the door after Lyra and bid her a goodnight. She paused a moment feeling the faint summer breeze tickle her palms. The day was still bright enough to live. The sky tinting soft shades of pink and blue, warm. She contemplated taking a stroll before dinner maybe even spoiling it with some sweet pastries. Instead her better judgement was to actually join her siblings. Watch some silly naturals’ show they are getting into. Right as her foot was about to step in front of other, fate.

“Lyra.” his voice sounds over the trees rustling.

She could’ve planked backward onto the concrete. Her heart may have even stilled for just that moment. For it to immediately derange itself inside her rib cage. She had to release a breath she didn’t even realize was snatched in. In one long move her gape veers onto him. Later she would appreciate that his dark taste in clothing never changed. He was fit into a pair of straight dark jeans, a shadow grey button up shirt under a long length, light black coat. His sandy blonde tousle top hair is a bit shaggier and longer volume sides, which outline his broadened jaw line, citing those bewitching sky touch eyes. Painting a war ridden but most exalted portrait of Audric Voltrin.

If she could’ve had her head on straight, she would’ve seen he was just as a mess. His composure subdued by the sheer gravitational pull of her. His very face prolonging the pine that beguiled him for all these years. That just to look upon her had been in his every wish.

“You’re here.” she utters softly, unable to find anything more to say. His muscles in his face flinch.

“I am.” he huffs restlessly “I’ve been meaning to find you.” his courage shimming up better than hers. She couldn’t gather anything to say but just to gawk at him. She had not been in the same vicinity of him like this since they said ‘good-bye’.“I was hoping to take you out, sometime. Maybe have a talk.” he proposes fully taking charge of the situation.

Lyra with all her might found the will to escape. “I don’t..I don’t know, excuse me.” her legs practically wobble up the stone steps. She almost ran when she heard him advance to her.

“Lyra.” this time he put more authority into it. Ceasing her every whim, she grudgingly looks back to him. She knew they both wanted to look at each other again. Though they were both aged for their years, they still had looks. He took his sweet time absorbing her eternal beauty. Until he knew he had to let her go, again. “You look beautiful.”

Still lost for words she escapes inside Migorin Manor.