Ciaran,
I know you are enjoying your travels, but I implore you—please return home, if only for a little bit. I have something urgent to give you. Please return soon.
With love,
Mother
He held the tiny message in his gloved hands, the paper crumpled and stained with dirt—it couldn’t be helped, he liked getting his hands dirty. Smokey grey eyes suspiciously eyed the sheet. Wondering if his mother had scribbled a last-minute message on the back, Ciaran flipped the letter over, but it was blank. He reread the address on the neatly torn envelope. Evidently, the letter had been sent from his home city, Nova Nona, and had been written in the signature, loopy cursive his mother was known for.
Ciaran clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Mother, I’ve only been gone half a year,” he hissed.
A gust of wind howled, blowing up clouds of dust that danced across the scarce land. Grunting, he tugged at the billowing ends of his maroon scarf until it comfortably yet tightly wrapped around his neck and covered his mouth. He reread the note and contemplated his options. Ciaran could ignore his mother’s plea and continue to travel the land, or he could reluctantly rush home. His lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Despite the shocks of pain that slithered and coiled inside his body, it was thrilling to see exotic lands and abandoned ruins. After years of being stuck under his father’s oppressive rule and drowning in his mother’s paranoid coddling, Ciaran could finally do what he had always desired: explore. He was unmindful of the fact that most people weren’t too keen on investigating ruins or chasing half-baked leads for ancient artifacts, much less examining rocks and dirt. At least Ciaran was pursuing what he loved, and he was satisfied.
But his skittish mother never struck him as the type to request him home. She kept her promises, and Ciaran clearly recalled her firmly agreeing to not call him back unless it was in his best interest. He remembered the vivid memory, her eyes hidden by the wide brim of her hat as she nervously wrung her handkerchief.
He sighed. How troublesome, he silently sulked as he lifted his gaze towards the sky. It was a cloudless, clear blue. Ciaran’s frown deepened as he redirected his focus to the ground. His boots quietly treaded across the dusty ground and stepped over the occasional dried up grass. Ciaran slipped a hand into his bang and pulled out a compass, dangling from a thin, silver chain. The arrow lazily spun around until it finally stopping and diligently pointed north. Grudgingly, Ciaran adjusted his direction until he was moving northeast, towards home.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t regret his choice.
Nova Nona was the same, as he expected. It had only been six months, after all. Ciaran wandered through the familiar streets while eyeing the nostalgic shops he passed by. When he arrived home, he passed through the arching gates and strode down the sinuous, cobblestone pathway.
“Mother, I’m home!”
A meek, muffled voice, managed to reach his ears. “Ciaran? Ciaran! Why couldn’t you have come sooner?! Quickly!” His mother, petite and delicate as always, rushed down the front steps of the sprawling manor. Frantically, she waved an envelope in her hands and pushed it into his arms.
Ciaran bit back an annoyed growl. “Considering the fact that I was in Lore, it couldn’t have been helped. Fortunately, I was at the very edg—What is this?” He switched between eyeing his mother and the envelope. It was sealed with red wax, the crest a three-headed serpent. Ciaran narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not sure, a masked figure came to my doorstep—“
“What did I tell you about mysterious strangers?” His tone was firm, irritated.
She lovingly ignored her son. “—and told me to give this letter to you, since he didn’t know where you were.”
His tongue clicked again. “Fine. Fine.” Ciaran slipped off his gloves and let them carelessly plop to the floor. He delicately peeled off the seal. When he unfolded the letter, he perplexedly stared at it.
Ciaran’s mother attempted to read over his shoulder, but was too short to do so. “What does it say?”
“It’s a masquerade and auction.” He couldn’t tear his curious gaze away from the paper. “I think I’ll go.”
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Syusaki's Sane Corner
My little corner of sanity. :D
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Syusaki
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