[SNEAK PEEK]Wedding Song
A runaway sorceress falls in love.
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Wedding Song
By Limewah
Subscriber Reward for Flarfenarfle (Apr 2024)
SNEAK PEEK
Being on the lam was an ordeal. When Anastasia needed to rest, she had very little choice as to where she could take shelter. Generally they were the sorts of places that wouldn’t ask questions about who you were, or check for bounties on you, were… well, austere would be putting it mildly.
The floorboards of the seedy back-alley tavern were just on the verge of beginning to rot. She had to cast three different prestidigitation spells on her mug of ale just to make sure it was clean enough to actually get down her throat. And the worst part? There was no music. Just the low hubbub of chatter and growls, punctuated with the odd smash of glass and scream of pain.
Anastasia’s blue blood and her frail magic-user’s constitution weren’t well suited to a place like this.
The owl was in the corner, on a mildewy cushion, with her hood covering her snowy plumage.
It still beat the idea of going back to her mother - the duchess, the homophobe, the woman who’d tortured her long enough. Being on the run, tearing down wanted posters and gradually getting further and further from home, was a far better option for her.
She hoped that if she went far enough away she could outrun the homesickness that was chasing close behind her.
“Weeeeell~!” A voice snapped her out of her reverie - in fact, it made the whole bar go quiet.
It was a sustained tremolo, issuing from the open, smiling mouth of a harpy. He had the face of a human, with orange eyes and blue-dawn hair, but everything below the neck was a vibrant green; he looked incredibly out of place in this dingy, dark place. He was brandishing a small lute expertly in his wings(how he could do that with no opposable thumbs was anyone’s guess) and was about to strum it when a storm of glasses and mugs flew at him.
“Waitwaitwait!” he yelled. “Don’t b-be like that, c’mon, I won’t even ask for money or lodging!”
“NO MUSIC,” the owner, a well-scarred human who one might have mistaken for a half-giant screamed from behind the bar. “FUCK OFF!”
“Was that flock off you said?” the harpy half-said, half-sang. “Your shoulders bear a clever heaaaad~!”
Just as he was about to break into song again, he got clocked right between the eyes with a washrag. He sputtered and stumbled out the door. A chorus of cackling laughter was quickly shushed by the watchful eye of the terrifying barkeep…
Just who was that harpy man? Curiosity overtook Anastasia, and she stood from her stool, leaving her drink not even a third-finished, and set off outside without causing any notice.
The harpy was sitting down in the alley in front of the shady tavern, strumming with his yellow toe-claws; one on the strings, the other one the dowels.
“It was out of tune, that’s all…” he grumbled. “If I’d actually checked beforehand, everything would’ve been…”
He looked up, directly at Anastasia, and the clouds of frustration in his eyes parted. His eyes seemed to gleam like gemstones.
“Oh! Hello!” he pushed off the ground and somersaulted onto his feet. “A fellow avian, I see; I do appreciate the solidarity!”
“Erm… do you rhyme like that all the time?” Anastasia asked.
“Only when it comes to me,” the harpy said. “Gosh, that’d be annoying if I did.
“Anyway!” he offered a soft-feathered wing towards Anastasia. “Wyndham Sparklefeather’s the name!”
“Dianthe,” Anastasia replied, offering a dainty, taloned hand for him to shake.
She knew better than to give her real name. This grinning bard looked like the sort of person who remembered faces well. And one who might talk about a pretty face to anyone he met. But there was a look in his eye that unsettled her. He knew something she didn’t…
“Don’t play that game,” Wyndham sang in a soft, sweet improvised lilt. “Tell me your real name.”
“Anastasia,” she murmured, her eyes briefly flashing gold.
The name wasn’t really forced from her mouth. It was coaxed out from her mind, tempted out by the song. In that split second before she said it, she knew she could have resisted the urge. But it just sort of happened, and she allowed it to happen.
…Wait, why had she let that happen?!
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