Another journal

You can find all the sections here.

Emily became more and more grateful the hare had joined them as the evening wore on. Throwing his tiny weight around, he got them a room, showed the two around a little and had already figured out how to get Emily before the king.

“I’m here to tell him about these Polaroids of yours and as it’s your camera you’ll need to come along. While we’re there you can ask what you need to ask, no problem.” He groomed his whiskers, pleased with himself. “My meeting with the king is in three days, so prepare your argument and go exploring. If anybody hassles you, you’re with me.”

Dry-Eyes, having brought Emily where she said she would, got ready to return home.

“May I take a picture of you?” Emily felt shy and a little sad. They hadn’t become friends, but she considered the sprite a good companion.

“Only if you waste two shots of your precious film, so I can have a copy. It’ll practically be life-size.”

Emily obliged and they looked at the swirls and beams of sunset colours that sparked from the sprite. Based on the hare’s studies, Dry-Eyes was much more powerful than she’d ever let on. Emily rolled the photograph, securing it with a hair tie and Dry-Eyes rigged it across her back like a scabbard. She waved goodbye briefly as she left out the open window.

Feeling at loose ends, Emily tried sleeping in the ridiculous four-poster bed that dominated the room. She found that when you don’t have to sleep, lying very still with your eyes closed is very boring. After spending an hour trying to drift off and getting sidetracked thinking about what fairies dream, she gave up.

She wandered the halls of the castle aimlessly, avoiding areas with guards. She found the kitchens, which she thought were strange until she remembered that, unlike sleeping, eating is still fun to do, even if you don’t have to do it. She chatted with the cooks and the salamander that kept the fire. They let her help roll out the pastry and gave her directions to the hall of portraits.

Stretching about a quarter of a mile, the hall was lined on both sides with images of monarchs and ruling parties, some accompanied by display cases of notable artefacts. Emily’s stomach sunk as she realised how little she knew of the Sidhe. She’d read about summer courts and winter courts, seelies and queens. But none of that seemed to apply here. Sure, most of the land she’d seen was in some stage of summer, so maybe that’s the domain she was in, but was the king the actual king or some kind of governor or mayor? Emily had never been good at understanding politics. This whole quest seemed to unravel the closer she looked at it. Maybe the grasshoppers had been right to laugh at her.

With a sigh, Emily decided to just go with it. She’d asked to see the king and here she was, due for an appointment with one.

Once she’d stopped trying to make sense of it, Emily enjoyed the hall of portraits. They were in no order—some were painted, some were sculpted and there were at least a couple mosaics. She found one that looked like it was a spot-coloured photograph. It hadn’t been fixed properly and the image was disappearing into a spreading bruise of brown and purple.

Some of the people pictured looked like humans, or the dark and sharp elves from European tales. There was also a good representation of animals, including a crow and a bear that Emily became fond of. She hadn’t been looking specifically for it, but she found the portrait of the king’s brother.

It’d only caught her eye because it was a silhouette, featureless and draped in black like some sort of Victorian mourning object. On a little table in front of it was a looking glass.

Emily picked up the mirror, seeing her own concerned face. She really needed to comb her hair back out, it was starting to dread.

“How can I help you?” The mirror clouded as it spoke. Emily was proud of herself for not dropping it in fright.

“Do you know about this king?” She turned the mirror to show it the silhouette.

“Of course, that’s why I’m here,” the mirror sighed. “Do you want a brief history, the saga, what?”

Emily shrugged. “Brief history first, I guess.”

“Alright then. Two hundred years ago—”

“Whoa, two hundred?”

The mirror sniffed. “Give or take. I really hope you don’t plan on interrupting me regularly.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’ll save my questions for later.” Emily sat on the polished floor and listened to the mirror.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.