The opaline lanterns swayed frantically. The crowded bazaar streets  and the night markets began to wither. And as the rain clouds fell over the border city, the sweet merrymaking of the night moved under the boughs of wisteria and higan trees. And in a moment the night lost its colour . . .enshrouded under a grey veil of mist.

It seemed like the goddess had thwarted his chances of joy. Borun sighed woefully.

He was an old man, and old men were often well regarded in the high society of Ahsara. But he was poor in both riches and power. As soon as he was appointed as a court official, the foolish king had gone ahead and woven an alliance with the enemy empire, and thus the northern faction had fallen, so he who should be spending his retirement merrily in the lap of luxury somewhere in a distant land,  was thrown to the streets, to toil and curry favour whichever way the wind fell.

And tonight was once such unfortunate occasion, Borun had been sent out on an errand to retrieve a message from an esteemed guest of the fallen faction. At first he had thought to use this excursion to tarry about the bustling streets of the night, playing and mingling with beauties that could not be found elsewhere in the world . After all receiving a letter was but a menial task and such an opportunity to visit the border city should not be wasted.


“ So it is Drugar is it not!” 

He woefully turned back to the table. The elder sat before him continued to prattle on breathlessly. Maybe it wasn’t so much that the north’s minister thought this to be an important errand but had rather wanted to avoid this old man’s incessant chatter that he had sent Borun away. 

The food set before them, a variety of fragrant fried sweets, cherry tea and meat skewers were left untouched.To his right, sweet song and dance of a perfumery were ignored for the old man’s attention.

How great it would be to lie between those fair bosoms and spend a night amidst joyous song and dance. He sighed, gazing longingly towards the minstrel’s fair faces, obscured by jewelled veils and harp string. Borun sighed regretfully, and as he began to turn away a looming figure entered the perfumery gardens. 

Lucen stepped out onto the courtyard. The rain had subsided yet the wet earth had already dampened the sweet fragrance of chamomile wafting through the air. He looked up, gaze drawn towards the moon, a curtain of yellow gossamer had fallen upon the  perfumery’s sky, obscuring the undulating viridian of the distant aurora.

A harmony of voices and string once again resonated though the fair trees and flowers, thrumming along to the trickling wayside rain streams. Lucen sighed, letting a held breath release. He pressed his fingers together, he had left with Lilia one glove, and now as  he looked back at the room, He felt that half his heart had been left behind that closed door. Should he linger further he feared that he may tear through the walls, crawling and begging for the glove’s return. 

He turned towards the gates with difficulty.

The perfumer had said that it was replicable. And he placed his fading faith in her words, nicking his fingers with each passing second.

Borun’s knee hit the table. At first anger boiled within him, how dare this handsome lecher stand between a minister and his muses? Yet upon a second glance and a third held breath,  all the blood of his body pooled at his feet. He rubbed at his eyes furiously.

“ Did something get in your eyes child?” The elder inquired merrily, pouring himself another cup of cherry tea. “ Now now. . .  one ought to take care of their health! It is not easy to fall ill in these cold winters.”

What nonsense was this old bat spewing? 

He rubbed his eyes again. Was it not the crown prince of Drugar he had just seen? In this day and age, not everyone was privy to the faces of the imperial family. Yet on his rare days of good fortune he had seen the heir with prince Nevernrya tarrying about these very streets. There was no mistaking it. That stature, the clean cut features of one unparalleled to those around him. No lousy disguise could ever hide such a face.

Now what was his highness doing in these parts when the royal betrothal was to be taking place in a few days time? 

Now it was not unlike for princes to seek pleasure outside of marriage. But to find one whose unending loyalty and virtue had been hailed across the southern continent, in a brothel?  

Borun coughed, covering up a sneer. Ha! If only those of the southern faction knew of their grand prince’s promiscuity, they would be the ones toiling in mud today instead of him! Well of course Borun will not be the one to tell them. If he could curry favour with royalty there would be no need to kneel before those impudent noble fools again. . .

If the prince was in an expensive entertainment city then it only meant one thing. That such a rare beauty fitting to the likes of imperiality dwelt within the perfumery. The gods had not abandoned him after all!. 

Beside him the old man’s talking waned and at last, a thick envelope was placed in his hands. Borun looked at the retired minister with a feigned smile and accepted it hastily. 

He escorted the old bat outside, where a meagre entourage of two guards awaited his arrival. And after tarrying about the eatery gates for far too long in farewell, The minister finally parted ways. 

Cursing at the old man for dragging his feet, Borun stumbled to the eatery. The night was young and crowds were pouring in sheltering from the rain. No one had the time or the mind to be watching an elder hobble about the eatery gardens. 

And so,

 Borun jumped over the wall, landing face first into a bush of prickling roses. Face wet with blood  and fingers pierced by thorns he shoved and trampled the blossoms on his way into the backyards of the perfumery.

It seemed that the Drugan prince was already done with his exchange. In the short time Borun had taken to jump the wall, the prince had already left the brothel. Borun bit his tongue in anger. If only that old bat had stopped yapping so much! He would have been able to catch the prince red handed. He pondered grievously for a moment. . . . it still might not be too late to catch sight of the beauty the prince had spent a night with.


But everywhere he looked were beauties. Beauties in violet dress, beauties playing strings, beauties singing and dancing and beauties walking by him. Borun ducked behind the thorny roses again, peeling his eyes towards the courtyards.

As he waited, from within the gardens of higan trees emerged a figure. Borun sighed, feeling all his worries fade at the sight of such a beauty, the shimmering skin of a merfolk, those fierce eyes upon a gentle face. Such ethereality could not be rivalled by a human prince. He suddenly felt a bit sad for prince Nevernrya. 

Who knew there was such a lavish selection of goods in Ahsara? The brothels of the city border truly were something else.


Disheveled and heaving the siren stumbled along the corridor accompanied by another beauty. His face was flush with sweat and a small higan flower rested atop the shadowy obsidian hair. 

He could not bear it! How shameless could the prince be to torment such a person to the point of breathlessness, if that was not all, he could not even walk properly. Borun silently vowed to himself, he must  book his own time at the brothel soon!

Having caught sight of the beauty, his purpose had been fulfilled. With the imperial betrothal only a few days away would he not be able to curry the prince’s favour if he brought this person in as an entertainer? Surely surely! If this beauty joins the prince’s harem then . . .  he would be a step above the rest of those stupid unlucky noble bastards! Borun licked his lips greedily. He had tarried about these parts for too long it was time for him to leave now. He turned back towards the wall, but felt  persistent grating surface pressed against his face, pushing him back with a solid knock to his nose.

“ This lecher!” A melodic voice screeched above him. “ Get this vile thing out of the perfumery!”

Borun blinked through tears and looked at the person above him. And  at the sight of a beauty his anger faded away, but when Lilia grabbed him by the hair, it came right back. 

“ Unhand me you wench!” He struggled, clawing at her gloved hands. And when Lilia finally did let go, a handful of greying hair was balled up in her fist. 

“ My head!” Cried the miserable fool. Covering a shiny bald spot in the middle of his head. 

The soft music of the perfumery halted, and even its esteemed guests stopped to look at the commotion. Many recognised Borun but chose not to speak a word of acquaintance or familiarity for fear of losing Lilia’s favour. But it was far too obvious what happened. As such things happen far too often in the perfumery. They covered their faces and spoke in hushed voices, ridiculing the old lecher. The perfumery had been mistaken for a brothel again, had it not?


“ Lady Lilia!” A voice broke through the commotion. From the kitchens emerged Ara, smearing her forehead with chilli powder as she came running carrying a large wooden bat.  It was an object everyone in the perfumery was familiar with. For anyone who dared anger Lilia had been dealt with its wraith.


Borun’s face paled and he crawled pathetically on the ground, trying to scramble away. But soon Lilia turned towards him and with one kick, broke one of his ailing legs. This wench! . . . This wench! This wench! This wench!

“ Just you wait!” Borun cried as he was beaten up. “ How dare you assault a minister!?”


“ What is a minister doing being a lecherous bastard?” Lilia rested the bloody baton on her shoulders, “ I am waiting! Fight back go on then!”


A few feet away the commotion and helpless crying of the man had made it’s way to the lush flowering courtyard. Asael winced, beside him Sarel shivered. It had been awhile since that bat had made an appearance, he had almost forgotten what it looked like.  Things had been peaceful for too long. . . Sarel shook his head in regret, it was bound to happen again.


Watching the man being beaten bloody Asael’s sense of admiration for the lady of the perfumery grew. Who thought that she who had cared for him like a mother would be capable of such violence. .


“ Does this happen often?” He turned to Sarel curiously. 

They were heading back to the dormitories when Lilia  stormed through the garden. Sarel was the first one to try to flee. Even though he did not know what was happening, He grabbed Asael’s hand and hid the other behind him.

Then Ara ran through the fading rain, lifting her head from the kitchens after a fortnight. 

Sarel laughed uneasily and covered Asael’s eyes.

“ It must be shocking, let us just head back to the dormitory”


Asael was now used to blood, it’s sight, scent and feel. But he did not object, for as the night drew on he felt rather weary and hungry. 

He nodded voicing, “ I’m a bit hungry too”

 Sarel clapped and began to chatter away, his eyes brightening as he stood between Asael and the bloody battle in the bushes. “ The dining hall is in the dormitory house, but, you might get injured if anyone bumps into you, so let us go to the kitchens!, the aunty’s bread tastes the best when its freshly baked”


The kitchen was to back of the ground floor. And since the kitchen aunt was known to be rather strict, rarely did anyone wander in. But it seemed that she was quite fond of Sarel and upon seeing him bring Asael along with him she smiled brightly and beckoned them in. 

“ And here I was wondering who all the bread and soup was for!” She laughed. Yet seeing Asael’s emaciated body she gasped in horror, “ Why this won’t do! this child is just skin and bones!”

Sarel eagerly helped Asael onto the table and helped the aunt set the dishes and bowls.  The dinner was mushroom soup with oiled olives and potato buns. It was a simple but fragrant meal.

Seeing Asael struggle to feed himself, the old lady sat down next to him.

“ You go and eat” She scolded Sarel, who in the middle of his own meal, remembered to help Asael.

She stirred the hot soup with a wooden spoon and brought it to Asael’s mouth.

He felt a bit embarrassed to be reduced to someone who did not even have the energy to feed himself. But he eagerly sipped the soup. Though he preferred it better cold with frozen berries, the soup was quite delicious. 

Though his mind was quite reluctant, his body that was weary in exhaustion accepted this unfamiliar warmth.

“ Wahh! Sarel sighed, closing his eyes as he savoured the taste, “ Aunty’s aged soup is the best!”


The kitchen aunty’s face glowed proudly  and she generously ladled a few more servings onto Sarel’s fast emptying bowl.