#mireia;threads

Every Saturday without fail, the Myre Grove tailor occupied one of the biggest stalls in the local market. The first rays of sunshine gleamed on silky dresses and ornamented shoes, they made the stones embedded in her jewelry come alive, and bathed the leather of practical accesories in a golden hue. Everything had its place, categorized by garment and style, and by the time she was finished setting it all up, the early birds were already asking questions and trying to bargain.

Between sales and trades, she sat behind a table adorned with her favorite creations of the week, mainly those enchanted with the most devious twists. Her hands were always busy; fixing seams, twisting silver, brushing suede, polishing crystals and making sure than her earnings stayed tucked in a secret pouch.

Every Saturday followed the same routine, and yet every single one she forgot to bring a snack. Mid-morning and her stomach was growling like a rabid goblin.

Mireia sighed, adjusting her glasses on her nose. She didn’t bother to glamor them that day, too tired from a spontaneous night out with a friend. Best to conserve her magic for when it mattered. Plus, keeping up the glamor to look younger always drained her reserves.

She was still weighing solutions to her hunger when someone approached her stall. Attentive eyes fell on her visitor, and a toothy grin stretched her lips. “Good morning. Can I interest you in anything specific?”

Eamon's Apothecary, The Darklands; afternoon

Mireia was relieved to have finished her business in The Tempest while there was still light outside. It allowed her to slow down and decide if it was time to go back home, and start working on the designs for a new show, or make a small, pleasant stop first.

She walked down the streets of the Darklands, feet swift and glamored wings twitching when her eyes fell upon the apothecary's sign. The memory of a familiar, sweet face bloomed in her mind and guided her steps inside.

"Hello, Pom," she greeted with honey in her voice, the creak of the door announcing her presence just as much as the perfume of silk and leather she brought with her. "How've you been?"

The casino hadn't changed one bit since the last time Mireia set foot in it. First was the sound of coins and dice clattering across carpeted boards, the flick-flick-flick of cards being dealt and laughter too loud to be sober. Then there was the reek of booze, perfume and sweat overwhelming her nostrils. Lastly, her eyes skimmed the tables; reds and greens, deep woods bathed in golden light and herbal smoke.

For most, it was chaos. For Mireia, it was the wrong kind of nostalgia. Nonetheless, visiting again with a completely different mindset was almost refreshing. She walked past a harmony of groans of loss and curses, beelining toward a familiar figure.

"Well, well, well… look who we have here," she purred, as though Jasper was the intruder and not her waltzing into his workplace. A toothy smile stretched her lips as she took him in. "Thought your namesake and I might come by to say hello."

Only then did she lift her arm, revealing the spotted cat draped lazily across it like feline royalty. Emerald eyes blinked up slowly before he gave the faintest flick of his tail. Mireia giggled softly. "He insisted."

Like every single year, when the calendar circled back to that date, Mireia visited The Boneyard early at first light. Mist and dust clouded the graveyard all the time, like a reminder of what bones would eventually become. She always took the day off, mainly because grief drained the vitality out of her spirit, one quiet tear at a time. But this morning felt different; even after tending to the tombstones and spending time by her partner and child, Mireia didn’t feel completely empty.

Still, she wasn’t ready to return to the atelier. Not yet. For once, she’d honor their memory by enjoying herself and, after considering her options, she opted for something that had wandered in her mind for a while.

Before she could doubt her decision, her feet took her to the Vault of Relics. Who knew? She could draw inspiration for a new collection of designs from its many artworks. Or… perhaps she’d find more amusement in enchanting a suit of armor to startle unassumming guests of the museum.

“Oh, this will be good,” she whispered between giggles as her fingers weaved threads of magic into cold iron.

It was Mireia’s first time at a place like the Roadhouse and saying she was nervous would be an understatement, but her dear Boone had invited her over and she couldn’t say no.

It had been a long time since she last saw him, and concern had only increased when he shared the news about his very being. It was confusing, to say the least. As far as she knew, Boone was a human hunter when they first met at Osaerin’s Abyss. The very same hunters humans trained to take on the rest of them for survival, but it didn’t sound like his transformation had been forceful or even… undesired.

She shook her head, overwhelmed by the many questions she wanted to shake off. Even if she wanted to know the details, it was up to the newly transformed werewolf to decide how much he wanted to tell.

Lupis was a unusual territory for a fae to step into; the many looks and distant sniffs she was getting were proof enough, but despite her wariness, Mireia took a deep breath as she entered the bar. There was no way Boone would cause her harm deliberately, he had saved her life during the bloody Halloween events. Next autumn equinox she’d settle for a nice cup of hibiscus tea and one of her old records.

“Boone!” she cheerfully called out at the sight of him. The circumstances didn’t matter, she was happy to see her friend.

The heart of the Myre Grove beamed with life as always. The bustle of the market and the hurried buzzing of passing fae reminded Mireia that leaving her atelier for something other than business was good. Healthy. Even necessary. She giggled softly at the sound of a gardener’s grumbling as they revived a bush near the Louvre Fountain, probably wilted by the hands of a naughty young darkling. Tilting her head, she gestured Nabi to follow her closer to the water.

Both of them had to run some errands after her visit to Heathcliff’s rambunctious cave that morning, and so the fae suggested a joint field trip. She still remembered what it was like when neither the human nor the little devil on his in–law’s shoulder were around: silence and endless bitterness. Now there was equal amounts of chaos and tenderness to be expected every time she dropped by.

“I’ll let you in a little secret, sweet Nabi,” Mireia said, letting her fingertip create ripples on the wet surface. She looked around to make sure no one saw her, and then, leaning closer to whisper in their ear:

“If you’re ever badly hurt, just take a sip from these waters.”

She stepped back, stretching her wings like she hadn’t just confessed one of the best–kept secrets in the entire Myre Grove. The self–satisfied smile on her lips betrayed how little regret she felt.

“It’s an unspoken rule; don’t let outsiders know about it. But you’ve been living here for a while.” To a being expected to live for several millennia, ten years was only a little while. Mireia was aware of what ten years meant for a human, but her tongue sometimes forgot to adapt her tone to the company she held.

It was the middle of the afternoon, the sun was shining outside, coming through the open windows of the atelier, and Cold Little Heart by Michael Kiwanuka played in the background as Mireia cut pieces of fabric away. The record wasn’t in perfect condition and it skipped sometimes, just like the majority he owned. It was very rare to find them, and even more so in perfect condition.

Jasper was curled up on one of the windowsills, sunbathing without a care in the world until something disturbed his peace. It was none other than his namesake, but Mireia still didn’t know. She hadn’t even noticed her cat scattering away, shaken by the energy he perceived way before she could, all too focused on her work and the music she cherished.

“In my heart, in this cold heart…” she sang along to herself, her voice low and barely hitting the notes, simply following the rhythm. The scissors split one last piece into two, and so she was ready for the next step.

Here, Mireia was in her element. And she glowed.

Mireia hissed as she tried to fight back one more vine lashing. She grabbed the living tendril and and sucked the life out of it, even though it would come back to life shortly after. It had been the same with every attempt at making their surroundings safer. Every time she took a step and bones cracked under her feet, her whole body shuddered in fear. She’d been trying to make sense of the code too, but it was harder and harder to focus as the mist grew thicker and the thorns cut deeper.

Boone trailed close, and she was thankful for it. Protecting him was the only thing keeping her from breaking down. The poison and the lack of oxygen were playing with her mind. Voices from the past sounded so loud she could swear they were right behind her too. But it wasn’t them, it was the hunter who mumbled something unintelligible.

“Boone,” she called, turning to him slowly, dizzy. “Are you okay? What did you just say?”