Bookletter

Mehki emerged out of a pool of ink. She did this in the manner that weak animals would crawl out of a tar pit, betraying the strength she passively carried, arms wobbling. Her hands, legs, face, and clothes were all weighed down with the lightless substance she had so resigned herself to explore. Humiliation did not matter when potential lives were on the line.

Beyond that expanse was another world, devoid of color; From the amount of time she had spent within it she looked almost monochrome herself. To her people, she had become quite a fluke, the sole darkly dressed individual in a world of sunset and vibrancy. Mehki did not pay mind, as her seat demanded she undertake this duty despite the wary glances it earned her.

She set her grey sights on her close companion once she righted herself from the embrace of the portal. Nepehele carried herself with a sly confidence that made someone assume she knew everything about you, even if she didn’t. People scrambled to hide invisible lies from her that she hadn’t even thought to ask, let alone entertain. Mehki had grown close enough with her to never immediately buckle under her gaze, and instead, felt a more sincere sense of safety. Words she’d be afraid to say were carefully extracted from her muted expressions by Nepehele.

Nephele spoke first.

“You’re wounded. What did you find?” Her look of concern was of duty first and of a friend second. Though Mehki’s secrets were safe, every word would find purchase in her sly mind. Her hand moved both to comfort and to feel every painstaking detail.

Mehki glanced sideways to divine some invisible force before speaking. “There’s cliffs in there that go deeper than you’d ever think.” She spoke in a breathy voice that rarely landed her an audience and aged her beyond her years. Whatever did weigh on her was so encompassing it was as if she was out of breath for every five steps she took, despite being of good– or even beyond good– health.

This is how many of their meetings would fair, with just the two of them. Vodia, the first seat and head of their circle, would rather concern herself with public matters. Her fervor and force of personality made epics out of brevity. However, as much as it was a boon, she did horrible in secrecy, with morals that were as strong as they were misguided. So, Mehki and Nepehele resigned themselves to meet and do things no normal eladrin would ever entertain. Such as meeting by a portal of shadow not to attack it, but to study it, in a stone temple dedicated to the art.

Nephele faced Mehki and squeezed her wrist. “Did you fight something? I don’t believe someone like you would so carelessly fall down a cliff.” Nephele had a habit of dressing her knowledge in the form of a question, allowing people to respond on their own accord. To Mehki, it was a loving yet firm affirmation.

Mehki put her hands over where Nepehele placed hers. “I did. Beasts. They mold themselves out of the shadows. Some scared. Some curious. Curious enough to bite, wondering what I'll do.”

Both were no stranger to the world, but were strangers within it. Bright motes offsetting a careful balance within a Shadowfell that had already been thrown off-kilter. There was no answer as to why portals had begun spawning beasts into their realm, but the two– and three, including Vodia– had made it their duty to find that rhyme to reason. Wandering into the maw of danger had become commonplace.

Nephele healed her with a soft, warm light, weaving through flesh and sinew. Her specialty as third seat also involved weaving and tapestries, allowing her both to divine and to heal. Viscera did not make her afraid, as she saw the body down to its tiniest bones and slightest hairs. She could dip a needle into an inky shadow and weave a person’s near fate.

Mehki’s careful deliberation was of a different kind. She was a writer and an artist, and would form patterns with a brush and let her creations come to life. She could capture things in fiction and bring fiction to life, even from fear.

“She was asking about you,” Nephele spoke after her long concentration, “Vodia.” Delivering the final part of the message felt like spitting something bitter, to her regret.

It left a small pang in Mehki’s chest. She knew that her friend’s concern both was that of someone close and of a seat of duty. Vodia, now, even in private, spoke to them like she had become someone else, one worthy of respect. Enough so that she could not be physically present for their deeds. The three fought often, she recalled, and moreso recently.

She looked away. “I’ll see her later.” Mehki’s eye contact wavered and focused below her, to where small fernlike sprouts have been emerging in the recent months. Short-lived sprouts from the Shadowfell, no doubt.

What Nephele and her had, she had begun to like better. Instead of someone leeching her to forfeit the secrets of what she’s learned in the inky world, Nepehele approached her with genuine interest and concern. Her insight was valuable, and her willingness to go beyond expectations was laudable. Her willingness to go with her, in secret, to this place, meant everything.

Mehki had become a comfort, as well. Despite her dreariness, there was a genuine attentiveness about her. She would observe carefully, and though she was not one for studying, she could remember more than someone could give her credit for. Her brevity, which others found brusque rudeness, was comforting. She had no care for humiliation from anyone, and would endure anything as long as she could see herself on the other side.

They did not know that, one day, she would disappear from the face of this world.