a/n

Introduction

The seven tongues

The colors of her face fractured behind the frosted glass of the window. The rosy peach color from her flushed cheeks made up most of the fractures, followed by the red-orange browns in her hair.

The woman behind the glass worked in wide circles, using the muscles of her upper arm and shoulders. When her circles reached her eye level, her warm, round face came into focus. The glass wasn’t frosted. The soapy water streaming down warped the reflection, creating the illusion of frosted glass. 

She continued to wipe down the glass, then reached up, as far as her height would allow, to wipe the surrounding frame. In the gesture, she fogged up the glass with her breath, and her face was lost behind the glass again. 

On to the next window. This one part of the wooden door propped open into the shaded courtyard. One courtyard of many. In the daytime, it saw little traffic (a reason Liorit had picked it as her secret corner), but that morning there were a number of stragglers.

A gentleman visitor walked through the pair of doors, and took in the scent of the nearby vines with a deep inhale. Without watching his footing, he took a step forward and dropped two whole steps. He flailed, throwing himself towards the railing, his fingers missing the bar by centimeters. 

Liorit held her laughter in her chest, biting her lip, watching through the leaves. The man tumbled down the rest of the stairs, soliciting a few alarmed gasps.

“Call a doctor!” Someone cried. 

“Guard!” 

“Miss! Your assistance!” 

The last comment drew the attention of the pretty woman at the door. She had frozen, kneeling over her soapy bucket, mouth ajar. She dropped her rag into the bucked with an audible ‘schlop’, and ran into the building. 

She returned at the heels of a nursemaid, who took quick charge. After assessing the injury, she directed the other maid to help her move the man into the shade. The man was grumbling around, assuring those around him that he was fine. And in time it resulted that he was. He would walk away with a couple of scrapes and a sprained ankle. 

Before that however…

“‘Elle, fill this with ice.” 

The maid took the ice pack from the nursemaid and ran back inside.

Elle. The woman’s name was Elle. 

The expression on her face, the face she made towards the man and the maid, was foreign to Liorit. She longed to name it. In her seven tongues she found nothing. 

She wanted to know what it felt like to look at someone that way, with earnest concern. All the same, she wanted to know what it felt like to be on the other side of that.