2. IN WHICH THE SEASONS AND AFFECTIONS CHANGE

Chapter two

I n the weeks that followed the cookie debacle, Cora began to think her methods were working. Asterion still came to the library–as well he should–but he kept his distance and only spoke with her within the confines of her position. His reading still ranged widely, but she found... inconsistencies with his reading habits.

It was possible, of course, the first few times, that he simply picked a book on accident. When she'd pick up his stacks to re-shelve after he dropped them off, or from his study cubby, they would largely be on a single topic, whichever he was interested in at the time. The outliers though, began to show a suspicious pattern. First, it was a book on various races and their characteristics among his research on the history of the Empire. Next, there was a book on geology amongst a series of culinary works. An anatomy text on nymphs among a grouping of political philosophy texts and finally, the real kicker, shells.

Though he might have been trying to be discreet, when he checked out multiple books on shells for several weeks in a row, Cora knew that she had not actually succeeded. Every one of the extra books had some tangential relation to her, though he'd not tried to engage her in conversation any further. Instead, Asterion was cordial, helpful but not overbearing, and scrupulous in his adherence to the library's rules.

As the seasons changed and the winter solstice neared, his topic of interest shifted once more, with a notable exception. For several weeks, his book choices were entirely uniform. All covered holiday traditions among different cultures, not a shell among them. Perhaps she'd finally lost him? Perhaps she’ d misjudged his interest in her and his reading choices had been nothing but a coincidence? Normally, she excelled at spotting patterns, but perhaps her confusing emotions around Asterion interfered with the ability. Regardless, his behavior surely had changed of late. He came earlier, stayed later, and took more notes that he had in the past, even falling asleep on more than one occasion. She worried about him actually, but considering how little he engaged with her, she didn’t think it would be appropriate.

Why then, didn't she feel relieved? Surely she should rejoice at the reduction in his attention. Shouldn't she be happy that he seemed more intent on study rather than creating conversation with her? At least she should have felt an ease of the fluttering she felt in her stomach when he was around. The man had made her nervous for months, and yet when faced with his waning interest, she felt no triumph. She dragged on for weeks, having difficulty, for the first time, enjoying the holiday season.

She felt no joy at the first touches of snow on her slopes, no comfort in feeling it settle it's calming blanket over her mountain's peak. The chill in the air normally invigorated her, and she'd always loved seeing decorations go up all over the city. She maintained her holiday traditions for the library of course, holding her seasonal story times and highlighting old favorites, but it all felt... hollow.

The bells and holly that so frequently decorated door fronts only annoyed her with their jangling and prickly leaves, and she had trouble mustering the enthusiasm for even wearing her normal ridiculous seasonal wear.

As she sat at her desk, the night before solstice, she slumped in her chair, propping her arms on the tabletop. Outside the library's two-story windows, couples rushed by with last minute purchases or strolled with intricately wrapped packages to visit friends or family. Because it was the first year when there were more than dwarves settled in the city (aside from Cora herself, of course), there were plenty of decorations she didn't recognize, but they all served to evoke a sense of joy and hope... in theory. It should have been the most exciting holiday season of her life. Instead, Cora glowered at the wreaths hung in windows and the mistletoe hanging in the doorway of the library.

"Cora! Cora!" A small voice rang out through the stacks. Another voice shushed it and a few seconds later, Broderson and her three children emerged .

"I'm terribly sorry about that," Catrin said, with little Bjorn on her hip.

The first time Cora had seen the woman, she'd honestly thought she was some sort of strange dwarf. She was short, like many dwarfs but had white hair, which only came to dwarves with age. She was human, so Cora had never seen anyone like her. Her three children, however, were all half-orcs, and bore the green skin and size to prove it. Her oldest children, twins, were eight and already they stood eye to eye with their mother.

"Cora," the girl, Ursule, whispered. "I can't wait for you to see our outfits tomorrow!"

Though she tried to be quiet, she did squeal a bit when she spoke.

"Outfits? For what?" It was certainly possible that Catrin might bring the children by on solstice for a visit, but it would certainly spark a new step in their friendship if they spent the holiday together.

"The ball!" Ursule spun in a circle, flaring her skirt out around her legs as her voice took on a dreamy quality.

"Oh," Cora said. "I'm afraid I won't be attending."

"No?" Halsten, Cat's eldest boy piped up.

"I can't, I'm afraid. You see, I've a lot of work to do, and nothing to wear!"

“Oh, that’s so sad!” Ursule’s face was awash with horror, though Cora couldn’t find it in her to sympathize.

A large, stuffy room, packed with people? It sounded a nightmare. Not to mention the fact that Cora would need to make hours of small talk, considering she’d certainly not have anyone to attend with. No, a lack of attire was a perfect excuse to avoid the occasion entirely, and she was grateful to have it.

“Now, kids, let’s not pry into Miss Cora’s life or reasons for not attending, perhaps you can wear your finery on a special trip to the library some other time!” Catrin said, ushering her children toward the door.

“What a splendid idea! Goodbye dears!” Though she normally loved them, Cora was only too happy to see the family go. The excitement over the ball and all of the other holiday festivities was wearing on her. She’d had more conversations on the matter than she could count, and frankly, she was ready for it all to be finished, and fast.

As the hours wore on, Cora finally motivated herself to pack up and head home, such as it was, around ten. She lived on the third floor of the library, with a balcony that overlooked the stacks, but she always made a point to leave through the front doors so she could ensure they were locked up tight. Which, of course, meant confronting the infernal decorations once more. The council was responsible for decorating all public spaces in the city, so she had little say in the outside of the library, which apparently included the doorway. The festive sprig had appeared overnight, and though she herself was a bit of a humbug, she left it previously, not wanting to ruin the tradition for whatever culture it belonged to.

Leaving the library that evening, though, she fetched a ladder to remove it. The mistletoe particularly bothered her, though she was unable to figure out why. Perhaps it was its especially festive nature, with its bright ribbon. Perhaps it was because it marked the entrance of her door, but she didn't understand the significance. Perhaps, it was because she had a sneaking suspicion it was a minotaur tradition. 1

She hadn't done any research on the matter; she'd not go out of her way to find out such things about Asterion's culture. Instead, she'd just happened to notice, on one of her nightly strolls, that he had one hanging above his lintel, with a similarly shaded ribbon. They were all over, of course, even some dwarves had adopted them, but it didn't feel as if it were a simple coincidence.

Removing the mistletoe, like pushing him away, failed to have its desired effect. Instead, she felt like a curmudgeon, stuffing the festive little posy in her pocket before anyone could see. The rest of the decor would be down in a week or so anyhow, and perhaps even if she felt guilty just then, it would do her good to not look at it all day.

Clutching her long winter coat around her, Cora navigated the bustling streets of Berggeheimnis. 2 With her parents away visiting Sanctuary–a city far to the north that housed a group of people who lived free of the Empire’s influence–for the holiday, Cora found herself entirely alone. Accompanying them was an impossibility, and Cora didn't begrudge them their important work building connections there. Her holiday the following day, though, would be a quiet, private affair, when she was used to a cozy time with family.

Weaving in between happy faced people, Cora finally arrived at her own door. Built into the side of the cavern wall, she had a round door that she and her father had fitted to a natural opening in the rock. As she approached her cheery yellow door, Cora spotted a nondescript package sitting on her front stoop. Though they were away, her parents, in their infinite sweetness, must have arranged for a surprise in their absence.

Picking it up, she noted that the handwriting on the accompanying card belonged to neither of her parents, but perhaps their secret accomplice had labeled it instead. Upon entering, Cora sat the package and her most recent novel down on her kitchen table and stoked the fire. The gift only reminded her of how alone she was and perhaps she’d want something to open in the morning. She changed into some comfortable pajamas and made herself a modest meal of cold roast beef, mustard, hard cheese and bread. She brewed a cup of tea, and huddled up, as she was wont to do of an evening, with her supper and her book near the fire.

As she ate, with a book purchased with her own money lest she smudge it, the words swam in front of her eyes, the blurriness of tears marring her vision. She hadn't any idea why she was crying. She liked to keep her own company. Her chest gave a shot of pain that countered her insistence. She was very lonely, after all. She'd dreamt of a home filled with warmth and laughter, of children she could adore, who would bear only half of her abilities and be able to explore the world in ways she couldn't. She'd dreamt of a life that expanded her own world enough that she didn't care it was confined to a singular mountain. But the walls of her cozy home felt as if they closed in on her, limiting the extent of her life with their constriction.

Tears fell heavy, marring the pages of her book. Her food tasted bland, her increasingly stuffy nose dampening the taste.

It was no use, her food tasted like nothing, and she wasn't hungry anyhow. Cora stood to return her plate to the table and fetch a handkerchief. The small package waited there for her, a small point of brightness in an increasingly dark day. Perhaps she needed the joy it would bring tonight more than in the morning. Admiring the simple but tidy wrapping, she pulled the card off the rich red paper.

1. The tradition of mistletoe is indeed a minotaur tradition, among many others..

2. Though the entirety of the city was underground, its cove, open to the ocean, still allowed gusts of wind, bearing the outside climate, to penetrate the mountain and necessitated seasonal attire.