I lost my name.

It was hard to miss a fairy with a thick mop of black hair barely in control, and it was harder to miss a fairy with a combination of wild hair and tinkling gold jewels shining on his ears, neck and wrists. Strands of his short shoulder length black hair seemed more inclined to weave themselves in and out and around each other in a tangled mess despite the handfuls of hair stuffed in a thick pair of gold band clips (a failed attempt at restraining said hair). The disheveled look, however, stopped short at his hair. Sweeping down his shoulders in a color of dark violet embroidered with thin gold strands, the olive skinned fairy’s coat ended short of his knees, the ends a simple curve mirroring the slow rise of its high collar. It seemed about the only expensive attire he had compared to the simple white shirt, burgundy pants and a pair of brown boots.

Asef ran his hands through his hair, shifting the thin strings of gold earrings loose from his hair. Casting his eyes left and right, he passed his gaze over the stone walls, the archways and eventually down to the grounds sprawled around him. Along the way he’d been given a passing glance by the stationed royal guards, but other than one or two cursory glances, no one seemed interested in approaching him. Which was all well and good. He also had the anti-wing potion to thank for slipping through. Without its existence, his lack of wings would have been a smite more suspicious to those around him, and he was rather certain one of the guards would have taken a keen interest in a fairy lacking a pair of wings.

Ducking under one of the archways, he found himself in a quiet, serene atmosphere. Soft motes of light slipped through the windows, colors of warm gold and yellow playing over the shelves lined along the gray walls. The library seemed a world of its own, separated from the goingons outside of its sturdy walls. Every library smelled the same too; the thick scent of old paper, the almost cozy feeling that curled from his toes up to the top of his head. Even the sudden onslaught of wanting a quick nap between the covers of a book came rushing in. However, Asef picked his way through the library, weaving around other fairies, past bookshelves and finally took a seat near the back close to a single long window, it’s upper portion, a stained glass, casting colorful reflections alone the austere floor. From here, he peered out at the castle grounds, choosing to partake in his usual activity of watching. He was, quite frankly, a boring old prune.



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