Calico looked at Quinten, who was standing at the large windows; the bright light of the city casting harsh shadows across his face as he whispered that word: sorrow. Calico himself is a wizard, but what he has heard of the college of sorrows is that it is not a popular college because most people who use bardic magic to move past trauma or something do so in the way that makes them happy and there are few people who are willing to dwell in what makes them feel sorrowful to make those feelings the focus of their magic. He always heard that they were the bards who understood better than anyone the forms that grief, sadness and other feelings can take; their music when playing by themselves or to themselves will evoke immense despair and sadness, but the bards will put on a brave face to brighten the lives of those they see suffering, not letting anyone know that they themselves are suffering the same. Their music is said to be extremely melancholy and they have much more access to necromantic magic than other bards. Despite the fact that the lights reflected and refracted against the glass panes, there was no light in Quinten’s eyes; they were cold, dead and hollow, no light or life behind them making them glisten…even his face had that hollow…nay haunted look to it that would wrench the heart of anyone with a drop of empathy, but Calico, knowing how the fey are, he could not recall a single fey who would not feel absolute torment from seeing Quinten’s expression. Calico wrung his hands in his sleeves as he pondered how to respond to hearing that and seeing Quinten’s face.

              “…it was all I could do” Quinten whispered, despite the haunted look on his face and the dullness of his eyes, his voice was odd; that slight mortal accent mixed with this melodic tone that made that look on his face audible and palpable, his voice sounded like every word was making his voice break and crack. “I…wasn’t popular like a lot of the other bardic students, whenever I’d play or practice…people would complain about how depressed I made everyone feel with my music, so I often was sent away from where I was playing, there were few who enjoyed the music I played.” He said, looking up towards the dark sky and the pastel moons, even the glow of his eyes wasn’t bright enough to reflect on the glass. “I could only make myself feel better by having people experience the same emotions I felt.” He sighed

              “I…I’m so sorry” Calico said, not really knowing what else he could say. “I…I” he barely got out before his voice died off in his throat because he didn’t know what he could say more. Quinten just looked back towards the city; brows drooping, mouth slack in a natural frown and his eyes downcast giving him that…surreal expression that some Renaissance and other fine artwork depicts people having.

              “I…don’t need your sorry or pity…you’re not the person who should be apologizing to me…you’re the furthest person possible from the two who need to apologize to me, but I know they never will. Even if their life depended on it, they’d never truly feel sorry.” He said resting a cherry red hand on the glass, long and sharp, black claws softly clicking on the glass panes as his claws, hoofs and horns had that same gilded sheen.

              “I…” Calico started before biting his own tongue

              “School couldn’t even help me; I told the school therapist and counselor everything that had been happening and despite everything they did for me…nothing ever stuck, those two just endlessly cycled their tormenting of me. They even tried to help emancipate me, but they were met with a wall those two put up making that impossible too.” he said, head tilting back more as the light twisted and warped his shadow making his extremely lithe and thin figure seem waifish and almost spectral, not translucent, but there was an unnatural manner to the shape of his figure that made Calico worry about how long it’s been sense Quinten has eaten…not just properly, but eaten anything at all. Quinten was dressed in layered of ragged, tattered and threadbare, patched clothing that weighed him down and covered in dark colors and natural tones, but Calico had to guess with any less layers, he’d be able to see bones on Quinten’s frame; the hollowness to his face already gave him that idea.

              “Are you…happy to be in Glimmerstand…to be away from all of that?” Calico asked, Quinten’s head just cocked over a little as he looked over his shoulder towards Calico, a few wisps of inky hair hanging around his face.

              “Elated” he said in the most dead-pan tone that was anything, but elated; though of what bards of the college of sorrow Calico knows, they’re really only ones to express emotions in the realm of sadness so all others are extremely muted. Despite all that, Calico’s senses were prickled with magic, Quinten’s magic, it laced his voice purely because of how he was speaking, like how storytelling is an artform, the way he spoke allowed his magic to seep out: this vaguely visible hazy aura of pure ink black smoke that seemed to drift off his bundled hair teeming the air with the acrid, sharp scent…of gunpowder, burnt spent gunpowder that was smokey and sulfuric mixed with the earthen, stagnant scent of wet stone and delicately mixed with the scent of calla lilies which only made Calico sadder due to the connotation of those flowers being for funerals. How sad must someone’s life be for their magic, the very essence of their soul…to smell and appear sad?

              “And you…want to stop running?”

              “Of course” he said with a soft nod, he spoke in such a way that you only ever saw the glinting points of his long, sharp…dagger like fangs. Calico was used to the cat like fangs he has, but those that Quinten had were comparable to that of a vampire or something with even larger fangs, nearly the point where Calico was confused as to how Quinten had no issues with how his jaw was set or speaking. “I’ve spent…so long running and staying away from them…how could I not wish to stop?” he asked turning to face Calico fully, tail finally loosening around his leg as it draped and unfurled against the floor, maybe a bit longer than the hellkin was tall, but it tapered to barely more than half an inch wide before the long, narrow dagger like blade at the end flared out; pitch black and gold with the middle ridge being that same cherry neon red of his skin, you could see indents in the skin showing where every vertebra was along its length. It was a special skill…to have so much of one’s natural form be sparkling, yet to have that glimmer be so…saddening. “I just…don’t know what to do”

              “What did you want to do?”

              “I wanted to make music…I wanted people to understand what I’ve been though and what was done to me…I wanted to be able to get past…all of it.” he said, voice growing dim and low, taking on an almost raspy tone and growl that made Calico’s tail fluff up a little, as he said that his ivy white-blue eyes flashed brighter blue, but there was something almost…menacing about it that made Calico almost shiver.