Sylvie flicked her hand over her eyes, trying to swat the impossible sun streams away. Feeling suddenly way too warm, she wriggled a foot out from her tangled sheets. Ah much better. The sheets were more luxurious than most of the items in their house, woven silk in a soft buttery colour.

Her mother’s voice entered her sleepy thoughts, ‘3 areas to never spare coins on, where you sleep, what you eat, and what you read’.

Sylvie opened both eyes, it would be impossible to fall back asleep after thinking about her. Swinging both feet over the upper bunk she peered down.

“Blanca, are you awake?”

Identical cream silk sheets moved slightly below.

“Of course I am with you thrashing about”.

“Sorry it’s just so hot in here”, Sylvie said glancing at the long stone window in their bedroom. Little smooth white stones placed inside large grey ones lined the window. The very thin and white curtain did nothing to soften the sunlight, but did block the mosquitoes.

Harvest season in Azuren was filled with highs and lows. Long days, with skies so pure blue it was overwhelming to look too long, were tainted with loud buzzing mosquitoes and other blood sucking hungry monsters. Sylvie scratched an almost healed mosquito bite near her ankle bone, maybe she would go to the city centre today and see if any new bounties had been put up.

Thwack. “Mother of Gods!”

Blanca, who almost never cursed, was rubbing her head. She looked at the empty messy bed on the other side of the long albeit narrow room.

“Maybe I will take Avery’s offer and switch spots; this will definitely be a bruise by tomorrow”.

Avery was the youngest of Fergus and Celeste’s three girls. The youngest, the shortest, and the most practical. When Avery offered Blanca to switch beds, it wasn’t because she was being kind. It just seemed fairer because of her height. Her pragmatism made her quite popular with the elves, and additionally any group feeling they had been treated unjustly.

Sylvie swung her long legs and jumped down. She loved their bedroom. Their father had made the bunk and the bed from an old Musclewood tree that had fallen during a bad storm. The bunk was rigged up with heavy-duty ropes that he had traded some traveling elves for. The rope was woven from an ancient spider that their mother had always told them would trap bad spirits so that nothing could harm them while they were sleeping.

Sylvie absentmindedly twiddled the silky rope between her fingers admiring the ceiling artwork. Blanca had recently taken their old cloaks that didn’t fit anymore and sewn them into banners strung up along the ceiling. The room was already crammed full with Blanca’s plants, so the result was a colourful looking oasis.

Avery was singing an elven folk song, per usual, and her cheery voice carried from the kitchen down the long stone hallway.

Sylvie began to brush her hair, “Can you believe her? It is only six in the morning and she is already croaking away like a frog…”

Blanca only smiled and nodded her head, reaching for a silver softer brush.

Although they loved to tease her, both girls knew that Avery would never be compared to a frog; she had inherited the gift of a bard from their mother. She talked pretty much from the moment she would wake up, not stopping until her head hit the pillow at night. No one however, seemed to mind, Avery’s melodious voice could make even strangers stop in their tracks.

At the clang of a pot falling, Blanca sighed, “I better hurry up and help her before my kitchen is destroyed”.

Sylvie watched Blanca hurriedly slip into one of her cloaks, today she had chosen her soft pastel yellow one, which she almost blended in with. She was the only one who had inherited their mother’s almost white blonde hair and light complexion.

Sylvie smoothed the wrinkles down on her own forest green cloak. The only traits that all three sisters shared were their slightly pointed ears and their mother’s green eyes. Thankfully, thought Sylvie, as she could not imagine anyone wanting her father’s ice-cold blue eyes. She shivered thinking of them. Her father was a gentle man, but when his temper struck, those eyes could instil terror.

The Musclewood Sisters were well known in Azuren; however, they really had no choice in the matter given whom their parents were… Drunken bards still loved to sing tales of how the large Fergus and beautiful elf Celeste fell in love and almost started an uprising of her clan.

Once there was a pair, a fine a pair could be,

A lovely little Elf, and a man as large as a tree,

They put away their worries, and danced under the stars,

But soon came the problems, and traditions of afar,

But the pretty little Elf, and the man as big as a bear,

Fell in love regardless, and did not want to care.

The old traditions protested and almost started a war,

But the two were now one, and couldn’t ask for more.

Sylvie, who once loved these silly songs, could no longer bear to hear them. Her parents, upon hearing a song, used to look loving at one another and flip a coin into the bards’ cup. Now the bards chose to sing other songs….

As she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a single warm tear worm down her face.

“Blanca?”

Blanca, tying her sandals, turned her head to look at her beautiful older sister.

“Today is the anniversary, do you think Avery remembers?”

“Yes” Blanca smiled sadly. “And before I forget”, she dug in the bottom of their wardrobe and pulled out a small velvet purple pouch. “Happy Birthday my dear sister" she said. She paused, and wrung her hands with a small smile, she had practiced this verse. "In a time when being visible is perhaps not wished, may you find this to your liking."

Blanca gave her sister a quick squeeze and three kisses on the cheek. Hearing Avery break what sounded like a cup, she then dashed to the kitchen.

Gift giving in Azuren had a lot of meaning. Nothing to do with the amount spent, but rather the time and thought in what one was giving was important. It was completely appropriate to arrive or celebrate without a gift, if nothing of merit had been found.

Sylvie didn’t feel like celebrating, but her curiosity got the best of her, she slowly untied the delicate pouch. Inside was small corked bottle with a glowing white potion inside, wrapped around the top was a thin gold ribbon and an inscription- ‘When the time comes you will know. Love, Blanca’.

She debated trying the potion, but then placed the bottle back in its velvety pouch and slipped it into one of her many pockets instead.

Sylvie’s back stiffened, and unsure how long she remained standing there, she got lost in memories she couldn’t forget. This day, 10 years ago, still haunted her thoughts; on her 16th birthday, her mother had been murdered.

She brushed aside the feelings of shame, and glanced once more in the mirror, this time seeing her father’s darker hair and olive skin looking back at her.

Oh no, Papa will be a wreck today.

Sylvie walked across the short hallway; the stone ruin floors feeling cool on her bare feet.

“Papa? Are you awake?” Sylvie asked while knocking.

Hearing only deep snores for an answer she tiptoed in. The closet door was open and Sylvie not glancing back, for if she would have, she would have seen her father watching her, ran her fingers through her mother’s gowns and deeply inhaled.

It still smells softly of lavender, she thought, horrified of the day she wouldn’t be able to smell it anymore.

Fergus chuckled gently, his oldest could run through the woods quieter than a deer, but indoors she was more like a clumsy bear. His chuckle surprised Sylvie; she whipped around with a smile that turned into a gasp, “Papa, what on earth happened to you?”

Her shriek was loud enough to bring Avery and Blanca running into the room.

“Your pillow is soaked in blood, you have a gash on cheek, a black eye…. Blanca can you mix something up?”

Blanca was already dashing to the kitchen thinking up a concoction, before Sylvie could finish talking.

“I’m fine,” bellowed Fergus, quickly trying to scramble out of bed while holding his bloody cheek. “Because you know today is, today is… I simply drank too much and got in fight at the pub”, he mumbled.

Poisoned Oak was the name of the city’s pub directly on the outside of the city gates. During the day it was filled with greasy food and men’s laughter, but at night it was an entirely different kind of place. Nightfall turned the otherwise harmless looking sign that hung above the door to glow a sickly green, attracting all sorts of trouble. Elves avoided the Poisoned Oak all together, leaving it a place primarily for humans, dwarves, and the occasional giant to frequent. Not that Fergus was often intimidated, standing at 2 meters and having muscles that most men could only dream about, he rarely needed to be worried.

Avery had held her tongue long enough, “Father, we understand your pain, but this is getting ridiculous! You are frequenting the pub more and more, every other weekend coming home looking beat up. You are embarrassing our family.”

The room fell silent. Sylvie couldn’t bring herself to look at her father and focused on Avery instead. There she was with her big red curls, her intimidating red cloak, chin butted out staring angrily at her father. Breathing deep, she was about to continue, when Blanca returned with an ointment and something steaming in a cup.

“Papa, come here, let me help you. You need to drink this now while it’s still hot, it’s a Salitath recipe from Auntie Mabel.”

Fergus knew better than to question his daughter and downed the foul-tasting drink in one gulp.

“Boars breath, that was more terrible than the cut is” he lamely attempted to joke.

With that, Avery stuck her nose up and walked out of the room. “I need to help with the elven rally, I will be back in the evening.” There was no asking permission in her voice; it was a statement.

Sylvie also used the opportunity to escape, “I got to go see to the horses”.

Leaving only Blanca, she walked over to her father and silently applied the ointment she had made from an herb in the garden.

“Thank you my darling, what would I do without my little healer” he said with a tired smile.

“Papa, you know she just loves you and worries”.

He gave his daughter a one-armed hug, “I know”.

Fergus stood looking thoughtful for a moment and added, “Blanca, I need all three of you here tonight after dinner, can you make sure your sisters are here?”

“Of course,” she answered with her eyebrows raised but didn’t question it. She couldn’t remember the last time she prepared a meal for all of them…nonetheless it gave her something to look forward to and she already started mentally preparing.

She unconsciously began to walk towards the kitchen, when Fergus interrupted her planning, “you look more and more like your mother everyday” he said smiling with sad eyes.

Blanca eyes watered, but she beamed, proud to look like her. With that she said nothing more, and left the room.

Fergus grabbed his black cloak, he refused to wear any other colour, he didn’t want the people to forget Celeste, and swiftly headed out to search for a new type of supplies for his shop.