What's left of the dream ripped from behind Arya's lids as she bolted up. Her sheets were rumpled and messy, like she was tossing and turning the whole night. Her tangled locks slapped her forehead, getting caught up in the stumps of her horns. She swiped at her hair, her face, and her sheets, stumbling off the bed without any elegance.
Cornelia watched this all with her arms crossed over her chest. Her pink sleep robe wasn't less silky than yesterday. Blond hair which Arya could only describe as fluffy housed violet rollers her aunt wore to sleep. Green eyes followed Arya as she tore through her drawers, looking for a proper brush to get her hair in order.
"Why didn't you wake me?" Arya growled as she found the brush and trudged to the mirror as tall as her next to a coat hanger. She poured her frustration into her poor strands, just heaving the bristles down against the tangles. Never mind it biting back against her scalp or how many locks snapped and fluttered to the floor.
Cornelia raised her manicured eyebrows from Arya's periphery. "I did wake you," she said. "Breakfast is ready, by the way."
Arya finished straightening her hair and proceeded to push it all into a hasty bun. She'd tie it properly at lunch or something. No time to braid it or do anything fancy. "I won't eat," she said, pushing past her aunt in a series of storming strides. Her footsteps pounded against the floorboards so loud their neighbors on the lower floors could tell where she went. "I have to go."
Cornelia pushed her lips shut but shut the door to Arya's room behind her. She followed Arya into the living room where she bustled around, trying to shed the gown she wore to sleep and put on the Postal Quarters uniform. Her aunt walked in on her tying the laces to her corset. Heat rushed to Arya's cheeks.
"Cornelia!" she yelled, turning towards the wall at the sight of her aunt. "I'm not finished dressing."
Her aunt rolled her eyes and closed the distance between them. Arya muttered her protest but Cornelia had already spun her around and began tightening the laces with a speed Arya wouldn't ever match on her own. "Nothing I haven't seen before, love," Cornelia said behind Arya, her voice gentle and sported a bit of amusement. "It's ten minutes to Eight Adiem. When is your shift?"
Arya stuck her bottom lip out. Stupid dream. It managed to uproot her entire morning schedule just by showing up, reducing her into a bumbling mess who couldn't even tie her corset in time.
"Nine," Arya answered her aunt as Cornelia finished tying the corset. She moved to grabbing the skirts and drawing it above her head, fastening it with more laces and pins. Next, she threw on an overcoat, coating her inner skirts and covering most of her corset. Then, she retrieved the pleated, long-sleeved shirt, stuck both her arms inside, and straightened it over her body. To finish, she fastened the outer skirt around her waist, tucking the shirt inside and providing a layer over all her skirts.
She turned to her aunt just as she headed towards the door leading outside their living room. "I should go," she bobbed her head. "Wirebus takes an hour to the Quarters."
Cornelia waved her hand in the air—a clear signal for Arya to stop meandering and saying meaningless things. "Don't forget your hat and put on your boots."
Like an obedient child, Arya stuck her foot into shin-high socks and finally into her worn shoes. She didn't bother tying the laces. If there's still time before her shift, she'd tie it properly in the lobby. Her fingers closed around the rim of the maroon coif hanging from one of the numerous hooks holding both her and Cornelia's hat collection.
By the time she reached the Postal Quarters, only five minutes were left before her shift began. She used that time punching her time in her log, running up the steps, and lunging towards her work station. Just as she gripped the rim of the table, with her not even able to catch her breath, the bell in the middle of the atrium tolled.
Time to start the day.
"What happened to you?" a familiar voice speared into Arya's mind. She turned away from checking the letter's address only for her gaze to land on the familiar spectacles of none other than Europa Marlow.
"Eury?" Arya shook her head and forced herself to focus back on her task. This one's going to Stondham. So...blue? No, green. "What are you doing here?"
Eury blew a strand of hair off her face, not even bothering to tuck it inside the hat perched on her hairline. "Lewel has had enough of me," she snickered. "So, your prefect's the only one left who hasn't taken me in. After that, they'd probably kick me out."
Arya wished she could talk about getting sacked as nonchalant as Eury did. "Why can't you just... I don't know, quit playing and start paying attention to your work?" she said.
"Yeah, and who showed up with bird's-nest hair and a serious case of mom-syndrome?" Eury rolled her eyes and went back to stamping her letter with a purple-handled stamp. "Seriously, what happened to you?"
Arya blew a breath and rolled the envelope before fishing a canister from the crate under the table. Her fingers brushed air. Ugh. Did the errands forget to replace it again? Why wasn't anything going right today?
"Woke up late," Arya's answer to Eury's concern was clipped as she bent down and hefted the empty crate of canisters into her work table. She grabbed her quill, dipped it in ink, and filled out the necessary details in the record log at the crate's side. "Had a very long dream. It was annoying."
"How was the date?" came the next question.
"What?" The quill flew out of Arya's hand and splattered ink all over the wood as it rolled across her desk. Panic gripped her throat. The letters. Did the ink get into the letters? Oh, dear.
Eury didn't chuckle. Instead, the sharp hiss of the canister being sucked into the tubes rang in Arya's ear. It was followed by hundreds of others in random succession around her. She paused and took a deep breath. CLear her head and reset the tension in her muscles.
"Must you ask about that now?" she leveled her gaze on Eury who was now moving to her second canister. For someone who wasn't capable of focusing on something for more than five minutes, Eury could surely do letter sorting well enough. Arya sighed and set the crate down again. She signaled for the prefect on the other side of the room.
"It's fine," Arya said to Eury as she watched the prefect's frame edge closer and closer to her cubicle. "Nothing much happened. He bought me a fictiontale. Or two."
Eury hummed. "Did you tell him?"
Arya looked around her to look for anyone who might be listening in to their conversation. The prefect arrived. "Hi, can you call the errands to bring me a fresh crate?" she said to the man with thick-rimmed spectacles, a stocky build, and balding hair. He nodded, took the crate from her arms, and peeled away. Arya turned to Eury. "Why would I? It's not like this would go further than that. I was just curious, that's all. He seemed like a nice guy but he's not for me."
"Then stop leading him on," Eury snapped, annoyance coloring her throat. "It's either you commit to it by telling him the truth or you walk away and end it there. Don't be so heartless, Arya."
She bit her lip. The sound of wheels turning could be heard from a distance. That's probably the new crate of canisters making its way towards her station. Was it really that cruel? As much as she denied it, she enjoyed Norren's company, his brilliant insights, and his understanding and appreciation of her love for fictiontales. She didn't need to pretend when she was with him. The only thing standing between them was the fact that they belong to two different races which might have been standing on polar extremes all this time.
She didn't want the only time she truly felt herself to end. At the same time, she didn't want to throw away her safety and security for it either.
"Ari, watch out!" Eury's panicked voice gripped Arya's muscles. By instinct, she ducked. A shadow whizzed over her head, the sound of mechanisms chugging and hissing was loud in her ears. What's going on?
"Whaaaa?" came Eury's confused expression. The woman hadn't quite finished her thought before it died off in her head and in her mouth.
Arya straightened. Her gaze fell on an automaton hopping in frantic steps over her table. Its copper talons clacked in erratic rhythm against the wooden surface. She could feel eyes pinned at her back. Finally, the wheels screeched to a stop and the prefect appeared beside her.
"Your crate's here," the man said. Then, he adjusted his spectacles against his nose upon seeing the automaton. "Nice catch."
That's all he said before he pushed the crate under Arya's worktable and stomped back to his station at the end of the deck. Arya knitted her eyebrows and regarded the automaton once more. It resembled some sort of bird, complete with retractable wings, pointed beak oscillating between closing and opening, and two, thin legs made of copper wires, gears, and other mechanisms Arya wasn't familiar with.
Judging from how smoothly the gears bit against each other's teeth and how fluid the bird's movements were, this was owned by a rich man or a renowned inventor. Or both. Was that what the prefect meant by "nice catch"? Arya didn't catch this though. It dropped into her life like a literal atomic bomb.
Then, she noticed one of the automaton's legs. Something flat, smooth, and circular was tied against its leg. Arya's eyes widened. It couldn't be...
She untied it from the copper leg and held it out on her palm. It was a pebble. But...who was this from? What kind of person would send another person a pebble? They're worth nothing. This one was probably lifted from a manor's gravel yard.
"Wow, that's a real token, alright," Eury whistled beside Arya. She had almost forgotten her best friend was even there to witness all this madness. "Men send ladies they fancy with tokens like that. It's a question. A clarification. A little outdated and old-fashioned, maybe, but you should talk to him, Ari. He's serious."
Arya chewed on her lip, her mind turning at the revelations she was getting. She was this close to being overwhelmed. Not because Norren had made the first move and has been making more just to get her answer to a question he hasn't even posed verbally. Not because he apparently had the money to rent an automaton and send it through a government office in the middle of working hours.
It was because the bird, no matter how mechanized, resembled a lark.