The clock’s ticking noise had grown to an incessant drum against Ceyda’s ears. It had rung its bell three times, one for each hour, and still Ceyda was not allowed to move. Sitting still this long unable to move her neck was tantamount to torture--but it was torture she had to endure all the same.

“Ceyda, please, stop wriggling, I almost burned your ear,” said her maid, Danette.

Ceyda’s mother loomed over the two of them, a haunted look in her eye.

“It must be flat” she repeated for the thousandth time this day.

It was just hair. By the crown, everyone had it! Ceyda didn’t see them have to fuss over it every day!

The small metal bracelet clasped to her wrist lit up and sent a shock up her arm in retaliation for cursing. Ceyda shut her eyes and tried to remember the mantra she was supposed to repeat.

Something something, sweet thoughts make for sweet chatelaines, something.

In the mirror, the unruly, curly, rebellious hair was slowly being run over with a heated comb by Danette. Beyond that, it was hard to make out details without her glasses. Danette’s pockmarked face was smooth as butter, and with the dim lighting of the candle and the setting sun, it was basically impossible to make out any details.

In this blurry world, Ceyda thought she looked quite fine, curly hair or no. But that was the privilege of not being able to see. No imperfections, no freckles, no weird details, just the smooth humanoid shapes that made up her body and others. Of course, that also meant she could only track the metal comb by the singeing smell of burnt hair.

Wholly not ideal.

“If I might speak,” Ceyda said slowly. “I do think it’s flat enough, mother.”

“It most certainly is not,” her mother replied tersely. She took the comb out of Ceyda’s hair and handed it to Danette. “Run it over the fire again, it’s getting cold.”

“Yes’m,” Danette muttered. “But--you did say I could leave early today? I promised my brother I’d spend Adreday with him.”

“You will leave when we leave,” her mother insisted.

Danette took a quick breath and hurried to the fire.

Ceyda took the moment of freedom to fumble with her spectacles. For a brief moment, everything was about as crystal clear as her eyes could manage. She looked around, craning her neck with minute bliss.

Her brother, Mehdi, was sitting in the hallway, wrinkling his jacket and trousers. Like Ceyda, he had inherited a mess of dark brown curly hair, the freckles, and the skin to match. Unlike Ceyda, Mehdi was an absolute twig of a boy, and, much to her chagrin, was going to be taller than her.

That’s what the doctors said anyway, things like-- Oh, Mehdi, such a strong boy you’ll become! A right ol’ spearhead, if there ever was one!

And then Mehdi would beam through dinner and the two would fight and it would be terrible.

The comb was returned, freshly hot, and Ceyda’s world once again became blurry. Her mother gave a few test strokes, nodded in satisfaction, and handed it to Danette for her to finish the job.

Ceyda sucked in her breath as she fought the urge to rock her head back and forth. If she did, her and her mother would both know she did it for absolutely no reason but to be a bother. It was still greatly tempting, but she refrained. Unfortunately, her bracelet couldn’t tell the difference between an action thought and an action taken, and she cringed at the sudden shock that travelled up through her arm.

“Ceyda!” her mother scolded. “Stay still!”

Ceyda tried not to grumble, and made eye contact with her own reflection. For a few minutes, there was no conversation, and her ears rang with the sound of silence.

“I want to go over tonight,” her mother said, speaking suddenly.

Ceyda sighed. This was going to be an event. Couldn’t Ceyda just skip to the part where she was in that horrid green dress, gorging on whatever food they had? She liked that part. That part was fun.

“The Blanches have electricity in their entire house. So please be careful, I don’t want you catching on fire. Don’t touch anything that looks strange or metal.”

Ceyda was about to protest and say that if no one had caught on fire yet, she saw no reason it would be a concern now, but considering how her hair was being dried to thin wisps, perhaps it was in her best interest to keep that in mind.

Her mother, Fenna Lucrece, was… well she certainly was a careful woman. She had refused to get electricity in the house, despite Ceyda’s father’s insistence. It was almost amusing, actually. Her mother was the one who wanted to keep up appearances, while her gaslamp of a father just wanted to stay in his study and go over financial records.

But even then, digging holes under the foundation of the house and rooting magical wires with bursts of electrical power in them was just a step too far for her mother. The compromise, ultimately, was to wire the main room on the first floor, and her father’s study. The plan initially included the kitchen as well, but it never happened.

Ceyda was fairly certain it was a money issue, but it wasn’t like anyone talked to her about money, so she could only guess.

“This is not a typical Adreday celebration,” her mother continued. “The Blanches, are hosting it this year.”

Ceyda wasn’t sure why she was supposed to be impressed, beyond the fact that it was one of the few families in all of Bricketfriar they hadn’t had tea with, but she supposed it meant something.

Most likely that they were upper class. Which probably meant the party would have really good food.

“We are going to support Mehdi, this is his day. You, my little chatelaine, need to make a good impression,” her mother said.

Ceyda nodded blandly. Yes yes. She knew this speech. She was very excited for it too, the sooner this day came, the sooner Mehdi could be given a core and everyone would stop fussing over it.

Only two years ago Ceyda had been obsessed with cores. Everyone was when they were fourteen. The magical little answer to your entire being, to lead you on a path for the rest of your life. Who you married, who you interacted with, more even.

But as it turned out, life after one’s Adreday was very similar to life before, the mystery was just gone.

Adulthood was, as far as Ceyda could tell, an absolute sham.

“We must make a good impression. A good impression can mean a lot for us. We could have security, and a much better house. The Weavers have three stories and their own garden. Could you imagine that? Enough space to not only have a self sustaining garden, but enough hands to work it?” her mother pressed.

Ceyda nodded. “That seems very nice.”

The hand pushing on her head tightened, if only for a moment. Ceyda yelped in pain as her roots were tugged. Her bracelet shot a small shock up her arm, helping very little about the situation.

“Careful, Danette,” her mother admonished.

Danette muttered a sorry, and returned to the brushing. Surely her hair was about as flat as it could be? Each one had taken on the light frayed texture of being combed over several times, and at some point it had to be accepted that Ceyda’s hair couldn’t be smooth and straight when it came in at least six layers of thick strands.

“You will, of course, be making an effort in courting,” her mother said, as if this were a topic that had already been agreed on and discussed at length.

“What?” Ceyda sputtered, trying her best not to whip her head towards her mother in horror.

“No need to pretend to be surprised. You won’t be sixteen for much longer. You’re a chatelaine, you’ll have no trouble finding a compatible man. Perhaps, if you play your cards right, you could even marry a mage!” her mother smiled, trying to imbue as much enthusiasm into the statement as possible.

“It’s not my fault if men don’t approach me,” Ceyda muttered, her nostrils flaring.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ceyda, men are more than willing to approach you, you just turn them off. You’re always sneaking around somewhere, thinking terrible thoughts, eating food by the shovelful, staring off in the distance, as if you were a cloud. It’s embarrassing for myself and your father, not to mention you.”

“I don’t think terrible thoughts!” Ceyda protested.

“Then it’s a mere coincidence you keep disobeying?” her mother asked, raising an eye. “I was already in deep relations with your father, at your age.”

Ceyda’s mother fell silent and left the room, most likely to retrieve some cream that was going to be slathered all over her face.

“Are you married, Danette?” Ceyda asked. “You’re old.”

“...I’m twenty.”

“Yes.”

“No. No I am not married,” Danette replied, staring intensely at Ceyda’s head.

“Oh, how come you don’t have to be married?” Ceyda asked as she gritted her teeth at the comb.

“Well, both my parents are dead, and I need to raise my brother,” Danette replied, her tone distant.

Ceyda sighed wistfully “That’s very lucky of you.”

For a moment, the comb slipped, and Ceyda yelled from the sharp hot pinprick on her skull, which was, of course, followed by a shock from her bracelet. Danette gave a quick apology and went back to brushing her hair.

Her head must be getting sore after three hours, the combing felt far more rough now than it had earlier.

Ceyda’s mother returned, with two tubs of who knew what in tow. She placed Ceyda’s hands in them, and instructed her to not move her hands for at least ten minutes.

After no less than one million years of eternal torture, poking, and prodding, Ceyda stood in front of a mirror, head finally free of the terrible comb, fully dressed.

It was a dark green velvet dress, with a dark blue crinoline underneath. Normally it would not be visible underneath the dress, but apparently Ceyda’s mother had noticed that some of the younger nobles had been wearing longer crinolines to add a layering effect, and then accent it with an underlayer along the chest. Ceyda had been given a black felt bracelet to cover her metal one, and a choker for her neck.

“I might look better with a dangly necklace,” Ceyda suggested. “Like the ones you wear.”

Dangly necklaces were fun to play with, and didn’t constrict around her neck so much, and were above all else, sparkly, and sparkly things were the most important things in the universe.

“Absolutely not!” her mother replied, aghast. “What would the Merristers say? If I paraded you in silver and gold trappings? It would be a scandal! We could lose our good will! We would lose our wealth! Our property! Ceyda we would starve! Don’t joke about that!”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke,” Ceyda mumbled.

“Think before you speak! Dark minds lead to dark lives! You musn’t be greedy,” Ceyda’s mother continued.

Ceyda stared at the mirror and made a point to think about other things while her mother rambled on about the many, many ways Ceyda’s life could be ruined if she accidentally made a single mistake ever again.

Instead she thought about how many specks of dust were on the mirror. It was an awful lot. It was like an entire constellation of dust and smudges, all slowly accruing. Where did dust come from, anyway? Were there tiny ifrit in her walls, that would come out at night, touching things and leaving a mess?

Ceyda sorely hoped there was. It would at least mean there was something interesting going on.

Without asking, her mother removed her glasses, and the dust and smudges disappeared in an instant, leaving a clean mirror behind.

Maybe dust was fake, and her mother just made it up every time she claimed a room hadn’t been cleaned. A lie, spread by eyes who saw too much detail.

By the time her mother stopped talking, Danette was long gone, and it was completely dark outside.

Ceyda was herded downstairs, where Mehdi and her father were. Mehdi was dressed up in a maroon jacket, maroon trousers, a short hat to match. A very mature look for someone who still cried if a stranger stared at him.

Her father was dressed entirely in grays, and was forgoing the hat. Instead he had a buttoned shirt with rolled up sleeves and a single button at the top loose. His hair was perfectly gelled, save for a few strands.

Her mother, meanwhile, was dressed entirely in white, with a much wider crinoline than Ceyda. Unlike Ceyda’s dress, however, it was not visible. Instead she wore gold bangles and and a gold necklace with a brilliant red gem in the center.

Truly a picture they were.

“Aren’t you fancy?” Aloysius Lucrece said, looking up and down his son. “If you become a gaslamp, like your father, you don’t ever have to wear a hat again.”

“I am going to become a spearhead,” Mehdi said stiffly. “And then I’m going to get my own fishing fleet, and sail the ocean.”

“Ah, you’ve got your mother’s spirit,” her father said.

“No I don’t,” Mehdi replied in annoyance.

“Well, you certainly don’t get it from me,” the father replied. “Shall I get the car?”

As he walked away, Ceyda heard Mehdi voice a small protest of “yes I do.”

It was cold outside, and Ceyda sorely wished for a coat, but all she was handed was a shawl made of a thin flimsy material, that matched her dress. She put on her shoes, simple flats, thank goodness, and mourned the fact that her mother had taken her glasses.

At other parties, she had hidden them in her shoes, and put them on intermittently to make sure she knew what was going on, but she couldn’t do it this time. Oh well.

The food at this party had to be ascendant, for the amount of fuss her mother was putting up.

Ceyda stood up and walked outside, cursing the cold.

“Ceyda?”

Ceyda turned to see a blurry Danette. Her hair was now down, instead of being tied into a tight bun.

“You’re at the wrong door,” Ceyda said, not sure how Danette got lost, but not one to judge. “The servant’s exit is near the kitchen.”

Danette sighed and extended her hand. “Just--just take it, Ceyda.”

Ceyda fumbled at the invisible object in Danette’s hand. To her surprise, it was her glasses.

“Thank you!” Ceyda said, trying to lower her voice. “I thought you had gotten lost!”

Danette didn’t respond, and was already out of the main hall, no doubt heading to the kitchen.

“Ceyda!” her mother called from outside.

Ceyda bent over, crammed her glasses in her shoe, and slowly walked to the automobile. Having her glasses meant she remembered not to do any vigorous stomping, which also made her mother happy. Really, it made everyone happy.

To her surprise, there was a chaffeur. They didn’t normally pay for such a service, what with only having a measly three servants, so it must be a temporary hire.

He was pale, and that was the sum total of all description Ceyda could figure out in the dark with poor eyesight.

She awkwardly shuffled into the backseat with her family. The top was pitched up by her father, and the automobile was turned on with a loud sputtering noise. Ceyda, as usual, cringed and clutched her head at the noise.

And, as usual, her mother told her to stop exaggerating, and then launched into a story of how Ceyda was perfectly fine to be loud late at night when everyone was trying to sleep, so surely the sudden, jarring noise of the automobile couldn’t cause that much distress.

And, truly, it didn’t. Ceyda’s mother was correct. She was exaggerating. She did it every time, but it was never that bad. It was just a habit she picked up, and she wasn’t entirely sure why either.

Probably bad thoughts. Toxic ruminations were the cause of most of Ceyda’s problems. She was simply no good at figuring out which thought was causing it. Perhaps it was when she thought the hair straightening process took a million years. That was the sort of rumination that could lead to her misbehaving.

It was a pity the bracelet didn’t pick up on it. Everyone else had grown out of such things years ago, so not only was it not fair Ceyda still had to wear hers, but it didn’t even work that well.

“Oh, darling, your spectacles are smudged, please clean them,” her mother said.

Her father gave a slight laugh, and wiped at what Ceyda assumed were the lens. She gave a small huff in annoyance. Of course father was allowed to wear glasses, in the car, no less. He was a gaslamp, it would be weird if he didn’t wear glasses.

No doubt he’d have to clean them again before they reached the manor, considering how dusty the roads were.

She pettily hoped that, when the ritual was done, Mehdi’s core would be revealed to be a gaslamp. Mehdi would be stuck in doors all day, and he’d have to actually learn how to read. Mehdi kept pushing it off, saying it was a girlish hobby. But if he was a gaslamp, he’d have to! And then he’d have to dedicate his life to reading! And then, Ceyda would laugh at him. It would be wonderful.

She stared out to the dark countryside. Normally at this time without her glasses she might as well be staring at a wall, but now the estates dotted across the shallow hills were illuminated with electricity.

And then, in the far distance, the familiar dull glow of the lighthouse on Friar Beach.

“There will be mages at this party,” her mother said, staring directly at Ceyda.

There was a moment of silence as Ceyda tried to figure out what that meant.

“I… won’t ask to see their spellbooks?” Ceyda guessed. She had once asked that when she younger and her mother had nearly vomited in mortification.

“Perhaps you would do well to be your best near them,” her mother corrected.

“I can try.”

“Pray and think uplifting thoughts,” her mother replied.

With this brief conversation, the automobile pulled into Blanche Manor. The road shifted from dirt to packed down gravel, and the vibrating metal moving contraption quieted ever so slightly.

It was an expansive manor, situated on a hilltop, surrounded by great fir trees, each one thirty feet tall, at the least. Compared to the firs, the manor’s three stories wasn’t that impressive, but what it lacked in height, it made up with in girth.

It had two wings facing the massive driveway, and one wing in the back. That one she could only see because at the end of each wing, there was a tower that spiraled up, as if for decoration.

Even said massive driveway had an enormous fountain with a statue of two women pouring water out of jugs.

Ceyda squinted to see if the boobs on the women were showing, but she couldn’t tell in the dark. Her bracelet vibrated ominously, which, in her opinion, was rather rude. It should be the Blanche’s fault for having some weird statue in front.

“Ohh it’s more lovely up close,” Ceyda’s mother sighed. “Don’t you agree, Aloysius?”

“Has a bit too many walls for my liking.”

They entered the mansion and were greeted to even more lavish decorations than the outdoors. Dark wood and jade greens flourished across the entrance hall, but small strands of lights had been strung up, creating the effect of walking into somewhere mid-day.

As Ceyda looked around, trying her best not to squint, she noticed one of the brilliantly green doors were open, revealing an abundance of either very short people--or young children. They were sitting quietly, reading or playing games, dressed in fancy dresses and jackets, each one clad in a glowing bracelet on their wrist.

She was always jealous of those children. Even young, her mother had insisted on her not playing alone. Her mother cited the fact that the first time Ceyda had been left alone, she had played swords with the candelabras, and had cracked open some poor boy’s head.

Ceyda had no memory of this, but it sounded likely.

Servants gestured to the grand doors on the other side, and after quickly looking Ceyda and her mother up and down briefly, they opened it to reveal the ballroom.

A dazzling array of lights, all nearly a bright yellow, instead of the dim oranges that Ceyda was used to. The people were nothing short of vivid either. Bright dresses and suits littered the room, some even had wires of lights grafted into their dresses, so they glowed with every step.

A few people gave them a passing glance, but they didn’t pay much heed. Everyone knew who everyone was, at these sorts of parties. Even if one didn’t know the specifics, most people usually could tell what the family was at a glance.

While her mother was distracted by the Weavers approaching her, the wife dressed in bright feathers and the husband dressed entirely in blue, Ceyda quietly slipped away to find the food. Unfortunately, as she navigated the walking and talking party goers, she realized this party was too fancy. There was no buffet table.

What an absolutely devastating blow to her existence. No, not just her existence, humanity’s existence.

Her mother was undoubtedly looking for her, in a panic, but such was life. Ceyda was content to exist in this brief moment of freedom, just watching the people around her engage in society. Maybe she’d see something interesting.

Along the edges of the ballroom, were men dressed in black and white waist coats, thick spell books slung to their side, with gold chains to hold them. Ceyda watched them, fascinated. They remained unmoving, well trained.

For someone to train to be a mage was a mark of immense privilege. Only a few in this world had the talent, and the Blanches were rich enough to hire them as generic bodyguards. Ceyda had assumed they would be guests, but of course, a mage who was a guest might be more subtle.

Did her mother expect her to be friendly with the bodyguards? That seemed highly dangerous, and highly awkward. She’d have to find other mages to politely talk to.

The problem is they were all--old? Not old old, but certainly older than her. Any mage half his salt traveled to Kesterline’s capital for training, and that was a five year ordeal. Everyone her age, which mostly consisted of three other noble kids at this party, were certainly not mages.

Young children were sitting at a table, all politely with hands folded. Amazing, Ceyda had been eleven by the time her parents had gotten her to do that. And they all looked six. There were so many of them, too.

Ceyda had been ten when it was decreed that nobles other than towers could have more than two children. Now she was sixteen, and there was this large generation of children just aging simultaneously. In eight more years there was going to be a very large Adreday.

“--shikere--”

A strange, foreign word, hit her. Ceyda blinked, looking for the speaker. Had she encountered some sort of coded language? Or perhaps someone’s name? Or was it a curse word that others had been hiding from her.

Her eye caught someone moving, in that general direction, and Ceyda followed the trail. She was wearing a very plain and simple dress, and was quite short as well. No more than an inch taller than Ceyda.

The strange woman had pale blonde hair, and pale skin. Almost all the nobles recently had been trying very hard to get a tan, so once Ceyda caught sight of her, it was easy an easy sight to follow.

The din quieted down, as a Blanche stood to speak.

“Greetings, my fellow friends and family of Kesterline!” he said. He was tall, and had long dark red hair, as well as furry eyebrows.

Ceyda inched closer to her mystery guest, and quickly dipped down to retrieve her glasses. The strange woman’s eyes were a brilliant, jarring blue, and she had a notably hardened face. Ceyda was not the greatest at understanding emotion, but she seemed to be glancing in annoyance at the speech. What an absolutely expressive woman! It was an actual moment of disgust, like nothing Ceyda had ever seen on a woman before.

No one else was even looking at the stranger. This was amazing. This was going to be Ceyda’s best party yet, she could tell.

Perhaps this was a new neighbor! Or a party crasher of some kind! A noble from a different town? Or even stranger, maybe she was a pillar from the working class, merely pretending to be a noble. That would be a scandal for sure.

“Ceyda Lucrece!” her mother’s voice cut through her train of thought.

Ceyda’s hand was grabbed, and she came face to face with her very angry mother.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

Ceyda blinked a few times. “I do not know.”

“Come stand with us, your brother is going to be given a core tonight! Honestly!”

And with that, she was dragged away from the mysterious woman. Her glasses were unceremoniously ripped off her face, and she sat down next to her mother in defeat.

She looked around the incredibly well lit room (her father said electricity wasn’t magical, but she didn’t believe it for a second) and tried to find the strange woman again, but alas, to no avail. She was too short, and was amongst too many people.

“As you know,” Mr. Blanche said, “I am from a long line of very talented mages and spearheads. And I am quite happy to host Adreday, so our future generation will make Bricketfriar one of the best towns in all of Kesterline!”

There was rapturous applause. Ceyda didn’t really see the big deal, it was the same speech the Durands had given when Ceyda had been given a core. The speech droned on and on, and her eyes travelled to the mages, all watching intently.

A spike of bitterness erupted within her.

Mehdi would become a gaslamp, or a spearhead, or maybe a tower, or worse, a mage. But Ceyda would always be a Chatelaine.

Chatelaines were quiet, mysterious, and were noted in being bad at both talking to people and raising children. That wasn’t part of the official description, but it was certainly the implication Ceyda had been told. So she’d be married off to a mage if she was lucky, or someone who wanted a quiet girl who wouldn’t outshine them.

Her bracelet shocked her softly.

Ceyda took a deep breath, and focused on her brother. What had her mother told her? Pray and think uplifting thoughts? Easier said than done. Sunshine. Clouds. Cake. Sleep. Running. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.

Happy thoughts.