Deia snapped open her parasol and angled it to shade her face from the slanting rays of the sun. She held the wooden handle carefully in her hands as she stepped daintily down the stairs. Father was always admonishing her to go slower, to be more lady-like. It was what was expected of her, as the daughter of one of the most influential men in the entire Alliance. So, she pulled down her flowing silk sleeves 'til they covered her hands, kept her eyes lowered, and didn't fidget, as a maiden of marriageable age should. That is, until she was out of sight of her house.

The city of Illchanter was bustling with color and sound. Elves haggled prices and sold their variety of wares to the Trolls, who were taking a mid-day break from their labors. Every once in a while a Demon street performer could be seen on the corners, juggling fireballs and reciting poetry. A line of Human priests, heads bowed in prayer, paced through the streets: the crowd parted before them like magic. Deia giggled to herself. They just might be using magic, for all she knew.

"Would the lady like a drink?" an Elf with violet hair called out to her. Deia wound through the crowd, taking care not to seem hurried. Never rush anywhere, she could hear her mother whisper in her ear.

"Thank you," Deia said softly, keeping her eyes down as she accepted the delicate blown glass goblet. She drank all of the water, as was only polite. When she offered the goblet back, the Elf shook his head.

"It is a gift for my Lady," he smiled.

She frowned. "But surely it is very expensive. Please let me pay for it…"

"My Lady, giving a gift to one such as yourself is a dream which many aspire to. To see it in your hands is reward enough."

Deia opened her mouth to protest again, but he raised a finger slyly. "My Lady, you have no idea how jealous the other glass-blowers will be when they hear that the beautiful Deia Alcander accepted a gift from my shop. They will turn positively green." He winked.

Deia smiled and winked back. "In that case, master glass-blower, I shall tell everyone I know of the fine quality of your wares. Including my father." She left him gaping and speechless.

It bothered her that she was thought of as the beautiful Deia Alcander. Even her tutors rarely remarked on anything besides her looks, despite her excellent skills with words and arranging them to move people to tears or laughter. She sat down on a bench in the plaza. A fountain spurted graceful arcs of water in aesthetic designs. The day was a warm one for this far north, and Deia was grateful her parents made her carry this ridiculous parasol everywhere. The glass goblet felt cool and smooth in her hands. She held it up to the light and admired the perfection of the craftsmanship. The glass-blower really was deserving of her showing off his work.

Someone jostled her from behind, and the glass slipped from her hand. Deia could only watch in astonishment as it tumbled, twisting the sunlight into itself, becoming a small sun for an instant before it shattered into a thousand stars at her feet.

Shocked, Deia turned to see who had bumped her, and saw a ragged Human running away, clutching something to his chest. An Elf cried from up the street, "Stop him! Thief!"

On the corner, a Demon had been swallowing fire for a few coins. When he heard the call from the Elf, he stepped in front of the running thief. Deia caught her breath.

"Stop," was all the Demon said, his tenor voice ringing across the suddenly silent plaza. The Human paused for a heartbeat, then tried to dodge around the Demon. Deia almost screamed. Was this man so desperate as to try to pass a Demon? What could drive a man to that insanity?

The Demon lunged at the thief and grabbed one arm. Deia covered her ears against the soul-wrenching cry of anguish that came from the man, but the sound still came through. She tried to not watch, but her eyes refused to look away as the Demon's touch instantly seared the man's skin. After a few moments that lasted a lifetime each, the Demon had burned off all of the flesh between the thief's elbow and wrist, simply by touching him.

The crowd remained as silent as death as the thief collapsed to the ground, clutching the remains of his arm and sobbing in pain beyond thought. The Demon stood at the center of a ring of observers, pale and shaking. The Elvin merchant who had been robbed broke through the onlookers. The Demon and Elf politely bowed to each other.

"I thank you, noble Demon, for apprehending this criminal, " the Elf said in a melodious voice.

The Demon shook his head. "I'm anything but noble, sir, and I am only glad that further crime has been avoided in our fair city. My part in the matter is of no significance."

The crowd then began to disperse, off to tell loved ones and friends of the incident they had witnessed. Human priests came and took the thief away, to where Deia didn't know. Deia stepped over the broken glass of the goblet. The scent of charred meat was wafting over the plaza, making her nauseous. Looking back, she saw the Demon still standing there like a statue, staring at where the man had fallen. He looked young, probably only about 190 years or so. His hair was red like the fire he commanded. He could almost pass for a red-haired Elf, with his pointed ears and slender build, except he was much too tall, taller than Deia by about half a hand.

He must have sensed her watching him, because he turned and looked right at her. His eyes were deep blood red with pupils like a cat's. Deia summoned her best maidenly smile, despite the fact that she was trembling head to foot. He returned her smile and walked over to her, stopping at a respectable distance of fifteen feet and bowing low at the waist.

"I sincerely hope you weren't frightened, my Lady," he said. Even at this distance, Deia could feel his fire. The heat of it made her slightly dizzy.

"I wasn't," was all she managed to say. Her voice sounded strangely high in her own ears.

He laughed. His teeth were very white. "It's all right if you were. It frightens me, too." A funny look flashed across his face. "That's probably the most bizarre thing you've ever heard."

Deia couldn't come up with a polite response. So, she settled for something plain. "What is your name?"

His smile crinkled up his eyes. "I am Faizal Ahimaz."

A cool breeze was beginning to blow from the west. It carried a hint of rain. Faizal felt it, too.

"I'd better go. That wind feels like it's blowing rain our way."

"You don't have to leave. I love the rain." Deia clamped her teeth shut. What possessed her to say something like that?

Faizal smiled at her again. "My apologies, my Lady, but I wasn't thinking of you. Demons and rain don't mix well." He swept her another low bow, then turned and walked away. It didn't take long for him to disappear into the crowd.

Deia stood there for a long time, then walked over to the fountain. Her reflection stared back at her with solemn grey eyes. She studied her hair, whiter than pure snow, her skin flawless like rose petals. A sigh rose up from deep within her as the first few drops of rain began to fall. Faizal's words echoed in her mind, causing a deeper impression than the violence she had witnessed. Demons and rain don't mix well. No, fire and water don't mix well at all, she though silently to herself.