bookofvesper:
Ulf has called her silly for leaving this morning to exchange her book. Why not purchase the book yesterday afternoon? Why not purchase it when she had discovered her interest in it, instead of waiting in the morning upon finishing this book the night before to sell it? Vesper like her small collection of books so much, why did she not wish to keep this one? It was a nice book, the antagonist fell to their death, a fun adventure, she had read it before, but not a particular favorite. She kept the ones she loved, or ones she needed reference to, such as her book on Ioun or the Celestial language.
But this was her day off. And she would spend it reading a new book, hopefully better than this one. It was twice as expensive. Blue binding with silver lettering. It seemed silly, maybe, but something about blue and silver warmed her heart and drew her hand a little closer than any other combination.
Fanciful Tales From The Feywild by Winsor Klossowski.
She traced the title ever so gently, and opened the book, seeing a design of what looked to be a tree and the symbol of Pelor. A good start already. She loved a nice design before the title page. A mark of the book and author itself sometimes. It was a shame more didn’t. Perhaps this one even meant something significant, more significant than just being a worshiper of Pelor. She turned the page. They stuck together. She gently pulled them apart–
“Stop it! The door’s simply stuck.”
“You’re too little!”
“Quit! Julius! Make her stop!”
“Stand back, I’ll open the bloody thing.”
“Don’t swear in front of the temple! Really…”
–before hearing someone speak. To her.
“Sorry?” Vesper was pulled from her thoughts, names and children’s voices drifting away like the dust from the pages. No, you silly girl, he had apologized, mistaking you for someone.
“Oh, it’s alright.” Vesper dismissed the notion of it being some social misstep and smiled to the boy. Or man, rather. He couldn’t be too much younger than herself. And with that head of hair and the rather haunted look in his eyes, she wondered why she might think him a boy upon first glance. “Perfectly fine,” She assured him, feeling the need to. Whoever he thought she was, clearly, she was not. If she were not so distracted with the book and her faded memories, perhaps her heart might have skipped a beat in hope that he was someone from her foggy past. But she had misheard him, because she was too busy listening to another Percival.
As much as Percival had changed, though she didn’t know it, so had Vesper. Several pounds thinner from a less than steady and rich diet, far less white in her hair than Percy’s but more than Cassandra’s lone streak, a similar gathering towards the front as her youngest sister’s, with more singular strands. If she wore her hair up in a certain style, however terribly old fashioned, she might have hid the white better. Instead, she wore it free, long, nearly to her elbows, the dark raven hair of their mother, the straight texture of their father’s, eyes the color belonging to neither, though Father would often say to Vesper that Mother’s eyes were more blue/green though Vesper never thought so and suspected he was only trying to make her feel better. Blue was her favorite color after all and it seemed so unfair.
Vesper changed the subject, hoping to pull him away from whatever thoughts that were running through his head. She felt uneasy; she felt the way she did late at night, thinking of memories that were not there.
“I don’t suppose you’ve read this book? If so, please don’t spoil it. I’ve only just purchased it.”
The ease of conversation seemed almost sickening - or perhaps Percival was truly about to fall ill. Stomach in knots he could only clear his throat and look away, vision blurring for a moment as he fought to compose himself.
Everything he’d wished to say at the tip of his tongue, ready to fall out at any moment should he only figure out which to say first. And yet, he didn’t dare. Be it fear of a curse, or perhaps just fear that this was truly just a dream and he’d wake up feeling empty like many nights before. Vex did seem to enjoy poking fun at his grumpy state in the morning - if she only knew what he was being pulled away from.
“Can’t say I have sorry,” He answers, not giving he book a second glimpse over. His gut churned once more, mind reeling for something to test he waters, a way to prove to himself that it were only a dream. So he mentioned the only thing that ever woke him from a ghastly nightmare - the only being to ever enrage him so mightily that he’d wake upon the slightest hint. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where one might find the Briarwoods, would you?” A pause, his gaze now finding Vesper’s once more, daring it to react in any way, but willing his own mind to snap out of this hell.
