Birdsong drifts through the windows of the Witching Hours, gently grazing Quinn’s elven ears. Her mind drifts after them, dancing in the sky. She wishes she were free from her prison- her shift- which seems to drag on especially long today. Something about dusting overpriced enchanted trinkets all day- ones that she would love to have but could never afford- made time stretch out mockingly. The cheapest item in the store would cost at least 3 hours of her wages- her life- but even before those wages could be spent at her choosing, her income was siphoned off to pay for a bed to sleep in.

She sighs, thinking of the state-provided pod she occupies, in one of the massive PITS bunkers. The PITS- formally known as the “Personal Independence Training System” was created by the Council to solve the problems of joblessness and homelessness while creating Productive Citizens. All young people, such as herself, upon graduating secondary school- are required to leave the comfort of their home to become Productive Members of Society- through either the PITS, or the Guild if you’re either an artisan, or have rich parents.

But unfortunately, since the government it both your landlord and employer, anyone enrolled in the system only gets to see their earnings after they’ve deducted the cost of “food” and “board” from their pay. A price the oh-so-benevolent Draconic Council conveniently matched to what their employees earn in a month, at 50-hours a week. Thus, any fun money earned was from overtime- something Quinn rarely had the opportunity or energy for.

Quinn wipes down the panoramic window with a sigh. Her hair tucked into a black beret, with a long, orange braided tassle hanging down. Her uniform- has a long-sleeved form fitted shirt, with an ankle-length black A-line skirt. Over it, she dons a long apron that wraps around the back, its design in the company’s colors: white, teal and orange. Out the window, she gazes at the city of Aspendelle. In the center is Azul Lake, with the rest of the town radiating out from the docks until hitting a massive wall- built to compliment the caldera the town inhabited. Beyond its borders, for acres beyond it are aspen & pine forest, civilization’s grip waning, as wilderness takes over. In the woods are but a few renegades and sages. The renegades inhabiting little clusters of cabins, dappled along the creeks and meadows. The sages in temples, often built at the mouth of a cave or around some body of water. When Quinn asked her mother why, during a visit, she said “they’re entries to the inner-world.” When Quinn asked what it was like, her mother didn’t know.

Looking out at the mountain ridges, Quinn looks for a glimmer in the sky- the leylines- always following a watercourses. During the day they look like a shimmering mirage, but at night looks like the milky way & borealis had an earthbound baby. The aspens are just beginning to turn, with a few tips dipped in gold appearing on the higher-up trees. Above the forest, a large craft floats up from the Southern leyline. It looks like a Manta Ray, gliding down to the lake. It lands on the surface & puts its “fin” to the dock to be walked on. Its dome top, a force feild, disperses. A group of tourists files out- passing through the gate under the clock tower, they reach the plaza. At its center lies an elegant fountain with two dragon gargoyles perched dormant at the top, looking down on the citizens.

Their armored exterior and glowing ruby eyes could be seen as either a sign of safety or a threat. They don’t just LOOK like they can spring to life at any moment- but they do, when a crime is signaled. Crime is very low around these parts, needless to say. They always get their perpetrator, dead or alive. Whisking them away to who-knows-where to become dragon food.

The town’s brick buildings are staggered in such a way that the town is fairly vertical, granting beautiful views from many vantage points. The rooftops double as little plazas, with planters along the edges. Ivy-lined arches connect the buildings, creating a maze of cobblestone alleys stuffed with street vendors below. She sees a composition she’d like to draw when her shift is over… Quinn stares, taking mental notes. She wipes the same circle on the window for the 10th time, sighing. Such a beautiful day just barely beyond her grasp. By the time her shift is over, the warm, sunny day will have faded into a cool, new-moon night.

(TO BE CONTINUED…)