Silksong

I. They were inseparable at the Academy—Regalia, Baron, Maura and Leila. Leila was the social one, Regalia the solemn scholar, Maura the chic one, and Baron, the eccentric inventor. There was never a time he wasn’t fascinated by jewels and metallic materials. His father and mother owned a steel mill, and they wanted him to continue the business. But he couldn’t. The business mind, he had. The vital spark, he lacked. He only felt alive when he was constructing jewelry that captured the essence of where he lived. Golden coils. Steam-powered baubles. Tachometers gleaming with brass. It wasn’t like Maura: glossy-chic, she called it. Thrift-store glamor. And it wasn’t like Regalia, who designed for debutantes going to funerals. His only true equal was Leila. Her designs were just as varied, wild and creative as his were. Her greatest triumph was a sheet-pearl wing-drape worn by a princess. The press took endless photos of her, but Leila never smiled. Even before they graduated, Baron had sold countless designs—with the help of his three closest friends.

II.
Somehow he knew…
It was autumn, then. He and Leila slowly strolled down the tree-lined boulevard outside the Academy. The leaves were in full, gold-red flourish—somehow more alive the closer they came to death.
The little Fae’s face was dappled with shade and shadow, her eyes limned by some shocking pink eyeliner. It made her look like she had spent the morning weeping. Perhaps she had, but that look was fashionable nowadays.
“You know, Mr. Baron…nothing ever seems to get you down.”
“Plenty of things do.” He beamed at her. “This lifestyle is incredibly luxurious, but stressful.”
“True. But you never seem to show it.”
“I hide it under my jewels.” His smile softened and he patted her head. “We do all call you the gloomy one.”
She wasn’t smiling. Not even a ghost of one. “No matter what I do, it seems I’ll never be happy.”
And this is the point to which he always returns. He wishes he could have slowed down. He wishes he would have embraced her.
Instead, he made some flippant joke like he always did.
And the next morning, she was gone.
III.
His world fell apart after that.
He never forgot her: he couldn’t. Her absence was a constant, throbbing ache in his breast.
When he bought out the academy and split its focus into fashion and gemology, he made sure Leila’s touch was well felt.
She was painted into every portrait of the founders as if she were truly present. Her collegiate pieces were displayed in priceless cases.
But Baron wasn’t surprised when Regalia left on her own journey, and Maura vanished.
Though surrounded by the city’s glitterati, he had never felt so alone.
IV.
Until he saw her.
The little dormouse of a Fae haunted the shops that sold Regalia’s recovered gems. The shop-owner had purchased the newest set at an auction and proudly displayed them in the window.
Baron went to see the one day—an excuse for a walk away from the empty Academy—and saw Silksong there. Waiting.
He knew from the girl’s hungry gaze, the eager way she twitched her tail, that she could be the perfect student.
At first he thought of tamping his feelings down. After all, the sight of her light-blue scales made Leila’s loss seem all the more scalding and raw.
Oh, go on, you blustering old timer, he thought he heard Leila mutter. Say something to her.
He tapped his cane on the sidewalk, approached her with a smile, and said “Hello there, girly. Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

I. The little Fae stood outside the window and stood on her tiptoes to peer in. Out here, the world was cold, gray and sere. Dust whirled down the street, pattering her coat and cheeks. But the window was something different. The golden show-lights gleamed on the sapphire jewelry, shining thick as honey. It was all so warm, so lovely that her mouth watered. She leaned nearer, and a gaunt Fae with luminous-eyes peered back. Her reflection. She was so startled by a clatter behind her that she almost whacked her forehead against the glass. It was a dapper, handsome Nocturne, whistling and clacking his cane against the ground. She withdrew into her cloak, hoping for him to pass—so she could keep looking at the jewels. But of course he stopped in front of her. Still idly clacking his cane. “Hello there, girly. Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it’s quite nasty.” She wrinkled her nose and looked away.
“Nasty, hm? Then why are you always out here, looking at the jewels the way a cat looks at a steak?”
She winced and finally looked him in the face.
He smiled broadly down at her, waiting. Tapping his cane. “I’m Baron, by the way.”
“Mr. Baron—“
“Just Baron.”
“Baron, I’ve heard…strange things about these jewels.”
“Funny. So have I.”
“They’re rumored to be…enchanted?” Her already thin voice trailed off into a squeak.
He tossed back his head and bellowed laughter, then shoved inside the shop with a clatter of bells.
“Wh—“ Silksong flattened herself against the window. She watched with mounting horror as he bought the entire set of sapphire and teardrop jewelry.
That’s mine! she wanted to shout.
Fury washed over her as the Nocturne and Guardian shopkeeper laughed together.
When Baron came carrying the packages outside, she almost knocked them out of his paws.
But then—
He handed all of them to her.
She gaped up at him. “What?”
“They’re yours now, little one.” He doffed his hat. “Have fun with them. Keep them somewhere without much humidity, away from prying eyes. And stay warm.”
He turned to walk away, still leaning over his cane. She ran awkwardly after him a few steps, trying not to drop anything.
“Wait! Wait.” She clutched the jewels tighter. “How can I repay you?”
“Hmmm.” He looked up at the sky, then dug for a business card to hand to her.
“Come here tomorrow afternoon, if you will.”
She gazed down at the holographic card balanced precariously on her parcels.
When she looked back up, he was gone.
II.
The address lay in the center of the city. She stood before the two glass doors.
It was a huge, triple-obelisk-shaped glass palace, with fountains and a hedge maze in the courtyard. Uniformed guards parted to let her through.
But still she stood in front of the doors, looking up, feeling grubby and grimy and lost. Her best gown was just as threadbare as the rest of the girls’ at the nunnery.
But she couldn’t deny how special she felt, on top of all of this. The heavy jewels glistened all over her body, a warming presence.
Gathering her courage, she stepped inside.
“Oh—welcome! Welcome!” It was the Nocturne again, sitting at a grand piano. He rose from the seat and embraced her like an old friend. “You wear those sets wonderfully.”
“Thank you.” She blushed. “What is this place?”
“The Baron-Regalia School of Gemology, containing the Leila-Maura School of Design. I can tell you have a knack for one, perhaps both.”
Without waiting for a reply, he whisked her up three staircases, one after another, showing her room after room of wild-looking gems. Art Deco, cut-glass chandeliers swayed overhead.
He spoke over her, at her, his mellifluous voice booming and surrounding her like a cloak
At last, they paused beneath a wall-sized oil portrait.
In it was Baron, the Skydancer named Regalia, a chic white Pearlcatcher, and a fourth dragon.
An electric ripple shivered through her. The fourth dragon looked almost like her.
Not quite. She was a blueish Fae, yes, but something about her was so wonderfully well-bred. Her glistening eyes seemed to bore into Silksong’s face, and she took a hesitant step back.
Baron was looking at her, too. At last, his glittering smile faded. He took a few limping steps toward the painting, then bowed his head and sighed.
“She was…wonderful.”
Silksong clutched her necklace, quivering. “Oh.”
“Yes. I miss her every day.” His shoulders slumped.
Silksong swallowed hard, took off her necklace, and placed it into his palm. “Mr. Baron—“
“Just Baron. She did that, too, you know.”
“I’m…I’m not whomever that is. I’m sorry if there’s been a mistake.”
“There’s been no mistake. I know that.” He squared his shoulders. “For one thing, she would have laughed and called me a stupid old man by now, and you haven’t. So thank you for that. But Silksong, I want to offer you a chance here.”
Silksong looked up at him, then past him—to the intense gaze of the other Fae.
The sapphires seemed warm against her flesh, like they were alive.
“I’ll take it.”
III.
Sometimes she feels inadequate.
Ms. Leila had a species of brilliance no one could match—least of all a shy girl who felt insecure about everything.
But with Baron’s instruction, she’s growing and learning. She’s landed a few new fashion contracts.
At night, she treats the sapphire set like a collection of shooting stars, and wishes on them before she goes to sleep.

I. “Do I have one-hundred-million treasure?” The stalwart Snapper raised his gavel. Before he could bring it down, Maura twirled her talons. Her eyes never moved from the pile of glistening pearls on the dais. The Snapper cracked his gavel. “Sold to 49. You may retrieve them tomorrow morning.” Maura nodded and sat back in her plush blue chair. The other dragons in the lush auditorium were murmuring among themselves. The uneducated were whispering how can that little dowdy thing afford them? Others in-tune were talking in low voices about the ill-fated Gemology Academy. But Maura didn’t care. Her stomach growled, and she wished for more of the pineapple wafers from earlier. She was getting tired of the gold and diamonds sparkling from every dragon’s neck, of the pretentious fake smiles and laughter. She closed her eyes.

From the moment she joined the Academy on scholarship, she doubted if it was the right place for her. If the gemology-fashion world was wrong for her in entirety, actually.
She came from a limited background, and had absorbed a lower-class work ethic from her parents.
But she just couldn’t let go. Let go of her love of fashion, her adoration of gems…
Leila.
Maura knew that the piece she’d just bought was worth eighty-million, tops. That was still quite a bit. After Leila’s untimely death, the prices of her work had skyrocketed.
But Maura wasn’t about to let some smarmy crimson Skydancer outbid her. It was Maura’s job to — to —
To what?
To keep all her work for myself.
Maura squeezed her eyes shut harder as murmurs over the next piece surrounded her, echoing from the auditorium’s vaulted ceiling and gilded walls.
II.
Sometimes talent burned inside dragons—luminous, visible as a lantern. It was like that with Leila.
You looked in her eyes and saw galaxies of talent, creativity and inner fire.
Maura would be the first to admit that Leila’s talent was a turn-on: why she always managed to “bump into” the Fae after classes. Or how they ended up at the same parties.
But maybe that admiration had grown into something else.
Leila’s trademark cornflower scales began to haunt Maura’s own work, her delicate wings floating through Maura’s dreams.
Before the end of her second year, Leila could have custom-designed Maura’s heart, as much as it showed her mark.
And the connection flowed the other way, too. There all those candlelit dinners, passionate arguments and tears—
Then silence.
III.
In the present, Maura made her way slowly back to her hotel, gazing up at the moon. The full, auburn globe peeked down between interlaced tree-branches.
When will everything stop reminding me of her? Maura wondered, but she thought she knew the answer.
Waiting on her lavender pillow was a stiff piece of parchment. A telegram.
HAVE GOOD NEWS. COME HOME. WILL SHOW YOU.
— MR. B
“Mister Baron?” Maura murmured to herself.
Maybe her goal had changed. Maybe she was supposed to take Leila’s work back to its rightful place: the Academy.
If everything was going to remind Maura of Leila, she may as well go home.
IV.
She would have loved this, Maura thought, standing outside the tall, glossy building.
The Guards were looking at her like she was homeless. She let them peek into the wrapped package of pearls.
“Delivery for Baron.”
With a shrug, they let her through.
She wasn’t prepared, though, for the light-whitish Fae sewing something in the atrium. She hummed about her work as Baron plucked out melodies on the grand piano.
Joy and disbelief welled up in Maura. Her jaw fell open. She almost dropped the pearls, then ran to the girl and embraced her—
—only to realize it wasn’t her at all.
No. An imposter.
Leila’s eyes were icy white, not watery blue. And this one’s scales were too pale, not Leila’s cornflower shimmer.
Baron beamed. “I see you’ve met—“
“Who is this?” Maura bared her teeth.
Silksong cringed away, then looked to her feet apologetically.
“Our new and only student. Silksong.” Baron blinked, seeing Maura’s eyes filling with tears. “Maura, it’s — it’s so good to see you again. What’s—“
The pearls fell to the ground. A few split into shimmering shards.
V.
She could mend a dress with thread.
A necklace with glue and pliers.
But how could she mend her heart? That took a lot more work.
Strangely, Maura and Silksong have more in common with one another than Maura did with Leila. Both from lower-class background—both believers in the strange magic that infuses gems—both unsure of the future, or what fate the academy holds for them.
Since both are shy, they’re slowly warming up to one another.
And Baron is free with his advice, saying liking Silksong doesn’t mean forgetting Leila.
You silly old coot, Maura says. I knew that.
Together, the three of them are slowly learning that things can change, and from a cold, frozen past, something bright and new can emerge…

I. She perched on the monastery balcony, looking like a flawed crystal statue. The red flare of sunrise shed light on the unending valleys below—the eternal pines, the spume of white river cutting through them. The high tones of prayer bells pealed above her—the sound made little ripples in her tea cup. She knew that the other dragons were gathering together in the halls beneath her. Together, they would offer prayers for healing all of Sornieth. Monks, nuns, aescetics—all dragons who had renounced their ties to worldly goods. But she knew that the instructors didn’t mind that she didn’t go to prayers. In fact, her presence at the Glowing Beacon was a curiosity. Her tiny cell was adorned with precious jewels, her blanks and pillows made of shining silk. To give up her jewels and cloth would be giving up the deepest essence of herself. And yet: she needed peace.

Leila, Baron and Maura were never far from her thoughts, particular in the morning. Prayer-time. Each of them embodied a sacred tenet of the temple’s teachings: Melancholy, Energy and Anger.
Each of these principles could be useful in its own way, but an excess created the worst of imbalances, generating the worst of life’s thunderstorms.
And which teaching am I? she wondered, bemused, looking at the sunrise. Probably Stillness.
Stillness could be good for reflection, but too much created loneliness and depression.
Too much…
She thought she was doing the right thing after leaving the Academy.
Those same traits—melancholy, depression, perfectionism—the ones that drove Leila to ruin—
Those were ones that Regalia recognized within herself. She had the same brilliant spark that drove her friend. But she sought a way out of the stress, to avoid self-consumption, like a candle that kept burning past its wick and destroyed what it was made of.
But perhaps locking herself at the Golden Beacon wasn’t the best option. It was so quiet here, sometimes she heard voices speak from the past.
The little rap on the door startled her from her long thoughts.
She unwillingly turned away from the glorious morning glow.
The little Snapper monk who brought her breakfast had something else along with it. A small note in a golden envelope rested next to a muffin.
The Snapper bowed, left the tray, but lingered in the doorway. He was just as curious as she was, now.
She opened it with one talon and pressed a paw to her mouth.
The handwriting—its crazy spirals, whorls, scribbles—was instantly recognizable.
“Mr. Baron,” she murmured, and showed the note to her attendant.
“Ah,” he breathed, then nodded. “Choice.”
Choice. The last tenet of the Golden Beacon.
Choice was the quickest thing that could lead to ruin.
The monk bowed and retreated to his daily worship.
Regalia read it over again:
Dear Friend,
I hope you’ve had enough time to heal. I write to you because we’re getting the old gang together again. We all want to do something great, something amazing, and we need you to help. Will you join me? Join us?
There was a small sketch at the bottom of the letter—Baron, Maura, and an unrecognizable Fae girl.
She flipped it over.
So you won’t get a nasty shock: the Academy currently has one extra student. Silksong is proving herself adept at design work. She’s very shy, but I think you’ll love her. Please come back…
Choice.
She ate her breakfast while looking at the note, as if waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves.
II.
Ultimately, she chose choice.
Regalia was descended from a long line of silk-weaving royalty. But a low-key upbringing left her stoic, solid, and austere.
She never flaunted wealth or her storied heritage. Instead, she channeled it into creating mesmerizing jewelry and textiles.
They said that you could lose yourself in the endless shimmer of the gemstones she selected, that her woven patterns hypnotized you.
That’s how she wanted to give back to the world: with great beauty.
III.
Baron was glad to see her. So was Maura. Silksong was hesitant with her and remained that way for a long while. Regalia had always been hard to know, though, and the Skydancer didn’t hold this against the Fae.
Baron’s great plan was to restart the Academy.
So, all that fall and winter, they planned courses together. They talked about the most important ideas they followed, discussed the basics of design.
The large, empty halls were alive with laughter and chatter—though they were still much too large for just four dragons.
When the season came, they moved all of Leila’s art, all traces of her into a hall of its own.
At last, the great Academy came alive again. An opal’s worth of lights lit the towers and windows every night—Silksong saw to that.
Hundreds of vibrant, brilliant dragons flocked through the halls
IV.
Baron watched from a balcony as the Great Atrium teemed with conversation, love stories and friendships growing, swelling, dying again.
The Midway Ball was in full swing. The students’ gowns and tuxes shone in the low light. A professional pianist was stroking the keys into a slow minuet.
Regalia joined him, leaning on the railing. Her rubies glistened. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
“Couldn’t have done it without you three.” He harrumphed, tapping his cane on the tile.
They watched the ball. Silksong was below them, discussing something with students. She still looked nervous from time to time, but she wore those blue gems very well, twinkling like a solitary star. Maura was nearby, listening with a faint smile.
“Have you ever wondered about what styles we embody?” Regalia said at last.
“Of course.” He turned to her. “I’m the crazy one, you’re the serious one, Maura’s the angry one, and Silksong…”
“Well?” Regalia cocked her head.
“She’s all her own.” He took Regalia’s paws, and led her into a hypnotic, whirling dance.

--bios by Caelyn--

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Baron - - - - - - - Silksong - - - - - - - Maura - - - - - - - - Regalia - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -