Another journal

You can find all the sections here.

It was obvious once you thought about it, and Becky had nearly said as much in the beginning. Emily’s parents were folk, she was born in the Sidhe. All the care taken to raise her had been as much to make her technically mortal enough as it had been to qualify her for the chosen one loophole.

Dry-Eyes had left shortly after dropping her little bomb, saying Emily probably had a lot to think about. She was right and Emily tried to think practically. How did this affect her plan? How did this affect her? She slipped off the bed, where she’d been sitting in a daze, and put on her clothes from Dry-Eyes’ village, which had been dried and folded neatly on her backpack, her knife belt and compass resting on top.

Emily wondered if she could do magic. What, or who, had her parents been? The only family she’d ever known had been Janice. Her parents were little more than anecdotes that, in the current light of things, were probably not true. That they’d been idealists and liked to travel were the only things that Emily could begin to consider fact.

Whatever possible personal abilities she might have, Emily did know she had magical objects. It was time to stop looking sideways at things in fear they’d disappear. She made the bed and solemnly laid her pack’s contents on the blankets.

There were the clothes that Janice had so carefully helped her plan and pack, but hadn’t proved necessary. She set them aside. Her boots, which were already dry, she held for a moment, wondering. Were they imbued with some power? Her feet hadn’t hurt or blistered despite all the walking, but that could just as easily be attributed to whatever latent abilities she had. Frowning, Emily decided to ignore them for now.

The tobacco pouch Becky had given her replenished itself fine, as had the bag of home made energy bars. She put both in a pile of “magic things”, taking a bar out and munching thoughtfully. Toothbrush, soap, a towel, hair ties and a comb she hadn’t used since arriving in the Sidhe. All the bright plastic packaging seemed out of place. Emily looked at them, wondering if she should maybe brush her teeth. They seemed fine, despite neglect, maybe fairies—the Folk— didn’t get cavities, or that fuzzy grossness after waking up. Emily had fillings, but she decided that the rules had to be different in the Sidhe anyway.

She unbraided her hair and ran the comb through. She’d been finger combing at tangles before re-braiding, so it took some time with the wide toothed comb to get the worst of the snarls out. Emily let her hair stay loose in a wild cloud around her head and examined the comb. In fairy tales the protagonist would drop one and it’d sprout into an impenetrable forest to hide in or delay a pursuer. Emily shrugged. Magic or not, she should probably keep it to hand, if only so that she could keep her hair from becoming a rat’s nest. The other toiletries were pushed with the clothes into a “not magic” pile.

The Polaroid camera and film Emily had completely forgotten about. She took the shot she’d taken of herself out of the writing desk and looked at it. The grasshopper fields were out of focus in the background, most of the frame taken up by an undeveloped blurry glow where her head was. It was easy enough to find out if there was a problem with the film or lens—Emily aimed the camera at the table and window, keeping the flash off. While she waited for the image to appear she counted the energy bars again out of curiosity. They were back to the same number they’d been before she’d taken one a few minutes before. Creepy. Emily wondered if it was the bag or the bars.

Developed, the photograph showed no weird flares or faded spots, just the table and the wall behind it, which was covered in runes. Or something like runes, anyway. Emily held the photo up, looking between it and the plain, whitewashed wall she’d taken a picture of. She decided against taking another photograph of herself until after she learned more about the camera.

All that was left were the writing desk, the compass and her knife. Emily knew what the desk did. She made a mental note to write her aunt that evening. Also, she thought while picking it up and peering at the letter slot on the side, maybe she’d ask Dry-Eyes about the desk. If the sprite didn’t know, someone in this place might. It seemed to fit with what they did here.

Emily touched the hilt of her knife. She knew better—from fantasy books and fairy tales—to fully draw the blade outside of need, but she did pull it out enough to expose the engraving.

“Luck.” Emily said it out loud and thought of Becky. What was she in the Sidhe? A sprite, or a monster, or some unknowable thing? Of course, if she was going to start thinking that way Emily might as well wonder about the rest of the court. It wasn’t worth worrying about. If she could pull this thing off, she’d find out soon enough.

Taking the compass from her pocket, Emily watched the needle spin. Apparently right now she was right where she needed to be. Emily stood up, leaving her things spread on the bed, and padded barefoot out the door to find Dry-Eyes.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.