A symphony of melodic drums awoke Nyym from her deep slumber. 

It had taken hours for the slavers to reach the town that the captain spoke of. The water nymph stared in shock and wonder at the people and the buildings. She has never seen such monuments of life and colour before. Every corner that the wagon took, throngs of locals gathered closer to her cage, pointing and whispering. Vendors and merchants stopped their chants and met her gaze, fire alight in their devilish eyes. 

Heat, under the scrutiny, appeared upon Nyym’s umber face. She has never seen so many people in one place. And all of them stuttered about like flickering flames, alight and bewitching. She was a creature of creeks and brooks, but the people here - they were an inferno blazing across the sands, singing a lullaby of seduction and destruction. Nyym stood up in her cage. The simple thin white dress she wore fell down her legs. Her lavender gaze shifted to the overhanging rainbow fabrics weaving across the tenements. It was truly an indescribable place, colourful and vibrant, a place she has never laid eyes on. 

This must be Danaze. I would never want to leave a place like this. 

Nyym reached her hand out through the bars, fingertips grazing across the muslin and silk that hung above her head. The fabric’s hues dancing across her wonderstruck face. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers stroke the pigment and incense infused air. She imagined catching the wayward colours and smoking tendrils in her hands, weaving them into tiny bobbins of threads. 

In her mind, she was back in her brook. Humming a song and knitting baskets from the vegetation that grew by the banks. Whispering a lullaby she heard from her mother once, Nyym interweaved the imaginary threads together, purling the silverly blue liquid of her brook. Casting off the smoking tendrils, Nyym spun the yellow, orange and red together, creating colour she knew her creek friends would be envious of.

Her reverie suddenly conjured a vision of rising coldness. Brooks and creeks hardened and stand still. Icy frost crept downwards, encrusting crystals and stalagmites indiscriminately. The ice cracked and broke around her. From within emerged a monstrous, horned creature. Growling and roaring, saliva dripping from its gaping maw. Large clawed paws swiped at Nyym, pushing her into the frozen icy water. 

Darkness and numbness become as one. Nyym opened her eyes, wheezing and unable to breathe. She fell down to her knees, sweat dripping down her forehead, her white hair hiding her from the muttering crowd. She struggled to consume the surrounding air, her lungs feeling heavy, as if filled with liquid. Her body shook and contorted. Fear descended upon the water nymph. Her muscles tensed and locked in place. She could not speak, and her chest begged for release. Paralysed and betrayed by her body, Nyym opened her mouth to unleash a silent scream as the bustling sound around her thinned into nothingness. 

Suddenly, she could taste bitterness. Dread seeped into her bones. She felt a thick slither worm its way from her gut and into her mouth. Viscous inky brine exploded from her cracked lips. Heaving and coughing, Nyym retched out the heavy content from her drowning lungs, feeling lighter and very much alive. 

Gulping down air, she sat up, her bloodshot and tear-stained eyes looking at the now dulled colours. Black ink running down her neck from the corners of her mouth. All was silent. All was still. And all was cold. 

Nyym couldn’t remember how long she sat in the position. The ink has long solidified and cracked under the unforgiving and unbridled heat. The wagon rolled and rocked, Nyym swayed with the motion, lavender eyes starting into nothingness.  

‘Emperor’s Teeth! What ghastly abomination have you brought before me!’ a voice pierced through Nyym’s reverie. 

The water nymph broke her trance to see a gold painted lady standing before her. The woman wore a glass crystal mask that covered her eyes and dipped below her nose and down to hook around her upper red lip. Her bright orange tresses brushed to wrap around the spikes of the crown and pinned in place at the tip with a golden triangular bead. Her torso was painted in strokes of ash and gold. She wore an aureate plated skirt, each plate embellished with precious obsidian or onyx stones. 

‘I apologise, Your Perditioness,’ Oden spoke and dismounted in the courtyard, placing a fist on his chest and bowing, ‘We are a hire for His Hellish Presence Aariman, he has tasked us to deliver this cargo to him unharmed and alive. We fear the sands are stirring and beg for your hospitality, My Good Preditioness.’

Behind the woman stood a grand white marbled chateau, genuine sapphire roof whittled and polished. Nyym smelled the delicate aroma of exotic flowers growing on the white bridge that connected the two tall towers to her right and left. She also spotted a fountain at the front gate, moss-covered rocks placed around it, and ladies lounging and drinking. An enormous wall encircled the building, hiding the fact that it sat nestled on a tiny island and surrounded by water. 

Nyym stared at it longingly, her body aching for the coolness and the pure sweetness. Hearing but fragments of the conversation exchanged between Oden and the hellish noble lady. 

The lady’s striking green eyes widened at hearing Aariman’s name. ‘What does Aariman want with this - this ugly being?’ Pointing incredulously at stationary and paralysed Nyym. 

‘I know not, My Preditioness, only that the pay is thrice the amount for our usual deliveries. My men rides to bring the message to the devilord’

The lady sighed and muttered something to the guards, who stood behind her. ‘I will grant you this request. There is no man alive who would turn away those who bear Aariman’s name.’ 

‘I am sure he will reward you, for your hospitality and for you service,’ Oden spoke again, keeping his eyes low in respect of such a noble lady. 

Nyym, mastered a small smile at the ostentatious woman, her fingers scratching at the cracked and solid ink. Finding little strength to speak. She should at least be able to present herself in some fashion to this painted lady. Who summoned heavily dressed servants, giving them curt orders. Nyym spotted Oden giving her a concerned look, his eyes widening at her current state, his lips moving in silence. 

‘Perchance, a bath for the nymph?’ he asked the orange-haired woman, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

‘Hmm,’ the lady’s red lips thinned. ‘I suppose it may be wise. For this nymph you brought before my resplendent home is far too ugly and I would not have the beastly thing tarnish my standing in the Echelon.’ 

The hellish lady clapped her hands, and the ladies who sat reclining by the fountain jumped up, their immaculately polished jewellery bouncing with each of their hurried steps. 

‘Your Preditioness,’ they intoned with a small curtsey. 

Nyym glanced over at each one, noting Oden shifting uncomfortably in their presence, his head down, his free hand rubbing his wrist. 

‘I want that thingwashed and clothed,’ the masked lady spoke, her nose high in the air and her painted finger pointed at Nyym. 

‘She is not an animal,’ Oden said suddenly, his voice deep and low, eyes meeting the orange-haired woman. Nyym felt the silence that hung in the air. Pregnant and dangerous. 

‘No, she is a beast, Captain. An animal at least cleans itself,’ the painted lady replied.

‘I apologise for the captain, Great Lady,’ Hurrmid said, placing a hand on Oden’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. ‘He is weary from travel.’ 

‘Then I suggest we retire, for I have grown weary looking at the little beast.’ She turned to the guards, ‘Have it taken from my presence.’

Nyym saw Oden push his man’s hand off him, looking away from her when the guards came and unlocked her cage. Their hot hands wrapping around her cold limbs.