Breathe in, breathe out. The sound of the air passing the lips, in and out. The soft rustle of moving fabric. The rhythmic pounding within the chest. Now and then the wooden bed creaked with the small movements. The breathing, the rustling, the pounding, and the creaking, and a flame. A silent flame lifting the air around it in a spiralling dance.

The sudden rustle of falling paper caused the bed to creak even more as the weight it held shifted. The concentration faltered, and the rhythm was disrupted momentarily. As the last falling piece of paper landed on the floor, the rhythm had returned. Inhale, exhale, keeping the head clear of thought. Listening to the vibrations in the walls. Chattering voices and stomping boots upon a wooden floor. The clatter of metal upon metal. The air floating from one person to the next, whirling at every movement. Doors opened and slammed shut, a small exchange between the thick and heavy with light, clean air. A hearth in full blaze, pulling at the air, spreading warmth around it.

Every breath, every heartbeat, every clash of tankards, clattering plates, rustling fabric created a heavy racket. But all of this, nothing more than a silent mumble compared to the true noise. A noise that creeped into every nook and cranny to reach those who could listen. Those with open mind and hearts, susceptible to the little details in the world. The noise that wouldn't leave. In the quiet room the pace of the pounding heart increased.

Within every person glows an ember core. A core that resonates with every other of its like. The resonance creating waves of tones and colours. The more people in the same place, the more the waves could bounce, reflect, change and amplify. Creating a wide assortment of tones and a colourful spectrum of lights and shades of shadows. Each and every arrangement carrying a different emotion: eased or fuelled by the surrounding.

The positive: bright, light, and high in tone. The negative: dark, dull and muffled. The cores could burn with hot flames, or cold indifference. The ember could glow, or seem smothered. The combinations unlimited like the stars in the sky. The core could also be silent, colourless, neither dead or alive, hot or cold. Simply an empty space, like the empty space in the quiet room. There is no colour there, no tones, and no temperature fluctuations other than the little candlelight that was breathing its last. Here the hidden sound couldn’t reach. Walls had been built to negate the grand and disorganized orchestra, so that one person could sleep in peace, undisturbed by the noise that never left.

But the candlelight was burning out, and with it the foundation of the walls. It huffed, and puffed, and flickered, and died. The walls slowly disintegrated into nothing, leaving the girl defenceless against the noise. A dark, heated wave reached her first and her dreams turned sour.

She opened her eyes and gasped for air. She fell out of bed in her hurry to get up. The impact with the floor cleared her mind somewhat as she laid there, eyes searching for what woke her up. Sighing, she rolled over on her back. She groaned when she heard the papers crumbling. Her hands reached up to her face and rubbed away the leftover daze. There was no window in her room so she guessed it was either dinner time or soon after sundown, based on the noise from the main hall. She didn’t particularly care, she wouldn’t go out and help regardless what time or company it was. Her first priority was canceling the waves of feelings that surged towards her and threatened her sanity and wellbeing.

She pushed herself of the floor, her bare feet wrinkling the papers even more. Her eyes surveyed the table opposite her bed. The candle she had lit right before bed was completely and utterly burned out. The little piece of wax that was left was of no use. The ring of miscellanea around the candle, some sand, threads of metal twisted around pieces of wood, piece of brass upon a tiny slice of fur, tiny knife, a lock from her own hair, all was as she left it. Half of the papers from her previous writing session were on the floor, wrinkled but readable.

Skimming over the tools of her craft that was littered all over the table she grabbed a simple leather string necklace with a bone trinket and hung it around her neck. The feelings that weren’t her own dampened. She exhaled and sat down on the bed. It creaked in protest at the violent treatment. If only she could burn this shack to the ground and still have a house to live in. The dark dream still echoed within her chest, dying down a little more after every moment. She sat there waiting it out. She didn’t see a point in getting up before she was ready, she didn’t want to break the rest of her things she hadn’t already broken.

She reached down and picked up a paper from yesterday. Numbers, lines and letters in an organized mess. Sighing she dropped the sheet to the floor again and frowned. She had been doing an experiment and it hadn’t turned out as she wanted or expected it to. The result had been unbalanced and close to dangerous if she had taken fewer precautions. It puzzled her. Earlier tests had given fruit to desirable results. It wasn’t until two days ago that everything went bad. The only thing she could think of as the cause was outside interference, and that wasn’t very specific.

Someone deliberately messing with here seemed unlikely. Anyone practicing her craft wasn’t keen on getting found by anyone. Someone not practicing her craft seemed unlikely as well. The majority would simply point in her direction, yell witch, and a proper punishment would be delivered, nothing less than death. The Gods were more unlikely than anything else; they barely gave any attention to their own “chosen”. Stuck-up bastards.

If no person interfered, something must have. She could check the grounds energy saturation again, but that would mean a walk outside the house. Unpleasant but necessary, she supposed. She had no way of checking if the fundamental energy had changed while she wasn’t looking. She was pretty sure that everyone and everything would be dead if that was the case though.

That being said, she decided to go outside today, or tonight, she still wasn’t sure of the time. She donned plain pants and a dirt-green tunic. Her well-worn leather shoes didn’t protect much against the ground but it was better than nothing. She grabbed her belt and a pouch from the pile of tools, stuffing a few thumb size rocks into it witch practiced ease. Her left hand grabbed a random leather string while the right collected up her hair into a ponytail.

Soon she was standing in front of her door, contemplating if life was worth living. The door separated her from the people outside just the way she liked it. No-one in this village had the skill to find it so she never feared to be disturbed. Opening it meant that people could find her, talk to her, and infect her with their emotions.

Slowly she reached out for the handle and pushed it down. She opened it only so she could see out through a small slit. The hallway was dark other than a dim light from the right where the main hall was located. It was night. She was about to open the door but she remembered she didn’t bring a charm with her. Not letting go of the handle she leaned backwards and grabbed a long string of wood beads. She wrapped it around her left hand, walked out, and closed the door.