castle in the clouds

[llyse]

[2] white

White.

            It is white. It should not be.

            White. Her hair is white. The mirror does not lie; it reveals the unvarnished truth even when the truth puts it in danger of being shattered. The mirror shows her, face and dark eyes and hair, snow-white hair cascading down her back. It sparkles faintly in the sunlight, like the snow outside. It is white, and it should not be, but--

            It makes her special. She smiles.

            "Ri!" The little girl swiveled, swiftly hiding the large shard of mirror in the little hole in the corner that she had found and widened out to use as a place to store her things. Mirrors were precious, magical; the previous owner had left this shard behind, and Ri, upon finding it, had swiftly taken possession of it. It never crossed her mind to turn her finding over to the Dance, despite the money that shard could bring. She had found it; it was hers.

            Ri ran out of the room, undignified but uncaring. The wind ran with her, making her chuckle. She was to leave the House! No-one had wanted to adopt the strangely quiet child with the accusatory gaze, but the Dancer had found someone to take care of her. She wondered idly if the Dancer was afraid of her, afraid of the little girl who sat on her bed often and dreamed, eyes open and mind taken flight. She did not care; she wanted to leave the House.

            She leapt the last three steps in a private little cloud of wind. Some of the other children looked up at her; someone called out to her, but she ignored them all. They were not like her, all of them; they did not hear the wind, and they spent their time with their silly toys and games.

            The door to the small room the Dancer used was open, and Ri slowed to enter, not wanting to appear undignified in front of the Dancer. Said woman was inside, with a tall man who smiled at Ri nervously. Ri returned the smile haughtily, suddenly nervous but refusing to show it.

            "Ri, child, this is your new father," the Dancer said, smiling with fake warmth. The man continued smiling, but his smile slipped a little.

            "You dain't tell me she had white hair," he commented.

            "Don't you worry, Ri's a good child," the Dancer said hastily. "Sometimes she's a little odd, but she's a good child."

            The man laughed. "Oh, no. It be not that I'll be troubling about that. It just be surprising, is all. Little girl like her, having white hair." Uneducated, Ri thought, as he bend so that his gaze was level with her face. Bumpkin he may be, but his gaze carried a frank honesty that she found disconcerting. "And I forget my manners, child; I be Rillen. I think your name suite me, yes?"

            Ri kept her mouth shut on the sarcastic comments that welled up in her mind.

            "She's very quiet," the Dancer put in.

            "Yes, that she is. Shall we go home, child?" He extended a hand out to her, and Ri took it.

            Your home, she thought. Not mine.