02: mori must breathe

Mori blew the dust off the book covers, giving them one last brush with the back of her hand before she gathered them up in her arms. She closed her eyes, studying the familiar heft of the books, how they sagged in her arms. One purple and oversize, one yellow and blue with a cover peeling from water damage, one of them tiny, one of them not even a book at all.

A knock at the door.

“Mori?”

She opened her eyes and flew over to the door, shifting the books to her left elbow for a few precious seconds as she jimmied the door open. A woman stood before her, shapely dress hugging her skin close like an affectionate lover, black hair tumbling down to her waist like waterfalls.

So today’s not the day, then.

“Oh.” Mori bit back a sigh, plastering a smile on her face. “H-hello there, Mistress.”

“Hello, Mori.” She reached a finger to Mori’s chin, tilting her face up. “I trust that you haven’t left the tower in my absence?”

“N-no, Mistress.”

“That’s a good girl,” she cooed. “It’s dangerous out there. All those bandits trying to salvage in the sandy seas. And those uncouth newlings- and their primitive concepts of reality!” The Mistress shuddered. “But we hold our knowledge right here. Safe from the world.”

Maybe they wouldn’t be so primitive if we didn’t hole up in here…

They’re more advanced than us, I’d say. They’re free to feel the sunshine, and the open air, and roam about as they please…

The Mistress patted Mori’s shoulder. “Going somewhere?”

“Just to the m-midsection, Mistress.”

“Good girl. You know the drill. Don’t go upstairs. Don’t push your magics too hard.” She clicked her tongue. “And remember, I’m the one who gave you your voice back.”

The Mistress winked and turned aboutface and swished down the hall, out of sight. Mori let out a breath, her chest decompressing, and turned the other way to the spiraling stairway at the center of the tower.

Two long years holed up in the cylinder of stone and mortar. Or maybe it was longer, she thought as she climbed the stairs, one at a time. Maybe it had actually been centuries, watching the people far below rise from dirt and mold themselves and wander about the lands. Mankind’s uncouth resurrection, unwashed, unclean, foreigners on the earth in a world long since overtaken by the animals.

She reached the midsection. A dead fireplace, a few couches, some side tables scattered around. Mori set the books on one of the tables with a thunk, collapsing into the cushions, and then dragged the smallest book over and flipped to a random page.

As soon as you're born, they make you feel small!
And then wear you down until you're nothing at all.

Her right hand twitched. A spark. She balled her fists and focused harder on the page, words starting to swim in a sea of white.

A good little child sitting at the stand,
Forced silent unless they first raise their hand.

Her hand twitched harder.

Fine, if you insist.

She put the book back on the pile and rolled to her feet. She snapped her fingers- a small flame burst to life in her palm, fingers uncurling like petals unfurling in spring bloom. The light flickered on her colorless hair, uncut strands reaching down almost to her waist, gray nearly auburn in the glow.

There had been a time where she could set whole swaths of the earth ablaze with the wave of a hand. Parted the sea with two, waves choreographed with expert precision. In her hand was a pen, and the whole crust of the earth was her scroll.

But thanks to a few shreds of paper, just the right sequence of scribbles- or the wrong ones, really, once one thought about it- the little flame was all she now had.

A curse, just nearly missing the deathly hearse.