Bailey looks around. She knew her expression was wavering on a teething bound. It smelled wonderful in the girls room, unlike the rest of the home. The room was decorated in mimosas and carnations. The walls are covered in the same vines as the boys room, but more kempt and lovely smelling.

  ¨I haven't had a sleep over since Fiona and I were 10!¨ The black haired girl squeals, seeming like a normal teenager for the first time in this entire interaction.

  The overwhelming excitement made her wanna hide behind her hands again, to peer between her fingers like a hunting tiger. Her fingers pulsing with every breath as she watches the girl.

  Isolde was gleefully making her bed, a velvety sheet of wine red on the white cushions. The bed was decorated in orchids, carved like a master's work. It probably is. Bailey then lifted her finger to her face, bangs drifting over her more delicate fingers as she scanned the room. Her bed was across the room, in a lilac-pink sheet covered in lotus designs. Suddenly the scent of the room felt too overpowering and it gained every nerve in bail not to run out and puke.

  The scent of the mimosas wasn't calming anymore, it felt more like eating so much sugar that it turns to poison on one's tongue.

  Swiftly, the girl walks over to Bailey, grabbing her wrists and pulling them away from her face. ¨Dont hide your eyes, they really are too beautiful to resist. ¨

  The girl then smiles fondly, dragging her over to a tall dark-oak closet. It′s basic compared to everything else, having smooth sides and simple pull-handles. Inside was filled with many outfits, similar to that of the villagers. With tops of cloth, shoes, dresses, and more.

  ¨You know the game, dress up right?¨ The girl asks.

  ¨Of course i do, im not stupid.¨

  ¨Then play with me!¨ She beams, grabbing a white dress with designs of roses around the bottom, along with a belt and large hat. The hat seemed a bit bit when Isolde put it on her, drooping over her face like messy hair.

  ¨mm, maybe it's a bit too big.¨ Isolde hums, her fingers finding the edge of the hat and lifting it up. ¨And like I said, those eyes truly are too beautiful to hide!¨

  Bailey's edge finally lifts, and she smiles genuinely. Her cheeks dusting in a gleeful puff. Maybe the girl wasn't as bad as she thought, just… socially awkward.

  The next day, Bailey finds herself spread across the velvety-pink bed she was given, in layers of clothing and make-up. She sits up, rubbing her head. She remembers dressing in multiple clothes, wearing makeup of flower petals and tree roots. She also remembers having fun.

  It's a weird word, fun. Not something they often had at the shrizen? cam. Bailey shakes her head, looking over to find tea on a coffee table. Isolde was gone already, leaving the tea to cool into a lukewarm. Bailey just sighs, picking up her cup. It was a beautiful clay cup, with simple designs of petals on it, painted in cherry-blossom pink and cream white.

  ¨I think i might start to like Isolde-basa.¨ She whispers to herself. ¨even if she is a bit over-the-top with her garden collection. ¨

  Once done with the tea, she walks over and looks at a note on Isolde's bed.

  ¨Good morning, Bailey. I sincerely hope I spelled your name correctly. Today I had to get up early. As this village's medicinal, It's my job to make sure everybody is healthy. However, I have laid you some fresh clothes if you so desire to wear them, I'm sure you'll look lovely.¨

  Beneath the note, is a light pink dress, fading to a deeper mulberry colour. It has carefully stitched cobalt blue ribbons around the waist that met in the front as a neat bow. Beside it lay knee-high socks in white, with pink stripes near the top, and baby-yellow sneakers.

  She smiles as she puts them on, slipping the soft fabric on, the feeling of the ruffled softness under the dress calming in a way. Like a doll, but a doll with control of their own life. She then walks over to fix her bed, the soft velvet of the sheets smoothing against her calloused hands from traveling so long.

  After making the bed, she walks over and stands before the mirror, mouth opening just slightly in shock of how she looked. The pink shades went well with her paler, yet lightly tanned skin. The bow brings out her eyes, and the lacing of the collar of the short to make her face more focused.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  The door opens, and Alexander and Porter. Alexander, instead of his usual black shirt with long sleeves and jeans, is now wearing different clothes too. He now wears a navy-blue short sleeve shirt, with bandages around his arms and gloves. His jeans replaced with black overalls, his necklace more visible now. However, he doesn't seem happy about it. His face is scrunched up in an annoyed sneer, almost as if somebody woke him up before he wanted to leave.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Beside him, porters' clothes have been changed too. However, he seems more pleased with it. Instead of his dirty all white outfit with holes in it, he now wears an ocean-blue tank-top with dark blue jeans, a leather belt, and fingerless gloves. His hair has also been pulled back out of his face, with pins holding his hair back, the blue tips sticking out his slightly from around the top of his head.

  Porter rushes forward, hugging Bailey tightly, face digging into her hair. ¨good morning, Scello!¨ he gawks, ¨You look amazing!¨

  ¨You look girly.¨ Alexander reports, arms crossing as he leans against the door. ¨way un-practical.¨

  Bailey feels her neck heat up, and fist clench.

  SMACK!

  Bailey's palm connects to Alexander's face, sending him stumbling to the side, holding his cheek.

  ¨I am a girl, you know!¨ she snaps, face scrunching into a furious snarl, ¨I like to dress pretty too sometimes! That's all you had to say, I look nice!¨

  ¨I'm definitely not saying it now you damn animal!¨ Alexander retorts, ¨There was no need to slap me. ¨

  Porter steps between them, grabbing their wrists. ¨dont soil the clothing, you two.¨

  He then pulls alexander over and bailey, pulling them into a hug, ¨Its not like we′ll be here long.¨

  Behind them, somebody stands in silence. Awkwardly ruffing his blonde spikey hair.

  ¨Are you gonna hug all day or do you want me to take you out?¨ Zorche huffs. ¨And you guys aren't escaping anytime soon, so don't get your hopes too high. ¨

  The three look at him, Alexander returning to hide behind Porter and Bailey. His eyes narrowed on the blond.

  He's wearing a uniform with a sun emblazoned on the chest and head piece. The suit itself is warm on live iron, the sun making him seem almost like its child himself. The only hard parts of his suit remain on the collarbones and heart of his chest, and the thin veneer of his head piece. The rest sit in braided chains of mail.

  Except Bailey felt like the package.

  ¨We′re visiting the Graten.¨ Zorche huffs, lifting the collars and leashes he spins around his fingers in boredom. Hey wrap around his skin like the vines on the wall he leans on. ¨The Major Lady, Hanma, has decided what to do with you. ¨

  The major lady hanma. What a mouthful of words for the title of a wrinkly old hag. Bailey had only seen the lady once. When she was brought to the rose-gold house in the townsquare, tied up and dragged by the same boy leadering her again But last time he was pushed down the stairs, knocked out and the rest of the day she was dragged around by gorilla-villagers in Alexander's words.

  They won't get the upper hand for a second time. Not that far up, at least.

  They walk the trek through the villages on their glamoured leashes. Through the village it's a calming walk. But not a normal calm, not like that of a newborn baby's crib. It was the peacefulness of a lion's den before dusk. The yawn of a predator before a hunt.

  This major lady hanma is going to drag us down.

  They walk before the taller gold-rose vine covered building. The grass deteriorates into a red that undertones a deep brown. The house looks perfect for it. The pink-brown rustic dramatics of it is enough to make Bailey's eyes roll for a long moment.

  The grass between her feet is odd, growing at multiple lengths. A soft padding of the dirt path broken into chunks by the burning grass.

  Creaaaak. Tmp.tmp.

  She looks up and sees a man with scroll-hair fixing his glasses. The scrolls are longer now, however. Curled up to his upper arm, and his blood-trailed cloak replaced by a deep blue like that of the oceans deeps, stitched with bright golden thread to make marks along the trimmings in a whole new language she didn't know. The rest stitched with more light blue waves through it. Small fish that get uglier and more mystic with every one of them, until a singular feather design lays at the bottom by a bunch of eggs.

  This man obviously has a worse sense of fashion than the boy with spiky blond-hair before her.

  Around them, she finally takes in the decor of the main room. It's a large room, with navy-blue walls, marble-like stone below their feet and pillars, the great angels of the story, and almiyan at the very face of it in the center of the room. Nobody else seems bothered. Porter excited, possibly, but no unease in anybody but Bailey's spine.

  The stone depiction of almiyan is almost as believable as the story depicts, a head made of light that shoots out to obscure his face. A body sculpted to be lean and majestic, legs t the side as he sits on his throne holding a globe with angels curled up around it like kittens to a ball of yarn.

  ¨Dont be dramatic, it's only some commandments. ¨ Quenral′s honey-sick voice soothes over Alexander's stone-rough voice.

  ¨Commandments? Bullshit! Lenk Shizn!¨ Alexander argues.

  ¨you will follow our rules. We are the ones who are to control your lives here.¨

  ¨Then let us go! We didn't want to be here anyways.¨

  ¨We cant.¨ Quenrals words fill in the gaps of alexanders rock-path voice.

  ¨like shit. I am not going on no damn mission under the name of some fake ass command! Make it sound as neat as you want but im not going to give in.¨

  The scroll man′s eyes just soften as he looks over them. The golden gleam of his eyes almost seeming blue.

  He is a Scrintor. A type of monster. Not human, not full beast. A bred professor for this village, nothing more than a loyal dog. He isn't the one making the rules.

  Quenrals hair shifts as something scurries down his back, the fish being covered in oozing ink as shiny as the stars. Suddenly that scurry out comes the damn scroll-mans pet- the racoon. His black paws oozing out to stain the floors.

  The raccoon then stops, then runs up Bailey's arm. The sensation of the ink warm as it drips down her arm like cold lava. Before her,the raccoon had apparently written words.

  ¨Your role: the jaguar.¨