Talhea

indent oooFrom the very first moment she could read, Talhea had been enraptured by history. She loved all kinds of books; poetry books, fantasy books, novels on biology and old fairytales. But the most well loved of all were the history books. Illustrations of cities long fallen to time would populate amongst her dreams. She would wander endlessly through foreign streets, watching locals preform ceremonies she would read over and make art she had fawned over. Though every time she would finally attempt to speak with one of these ancient citizens, to try to understand just a sliver of new information that wasn't told in textbooks, she would wake up. Her heart ached each morning, an ache that would only be soothed by more books.

Reading was a useful pass time as well, especially when the only other things to do were to stare out of windows or play with the other orphans running out and around the halls.

Where she excelled in reading, mathematics, and general education, she floundered horrendously in socializing. She could understand vocabulary well beyond her years, but holding light conversation, was impossible. The caretaker of the home, a kindly older man whom was lovingly refereed to as "Mr. Dad" by the children, had strived to get Talhea to "open her shell" almost every day. He never poked or prodded at her to speak to the others, and instead encouraged the others to come speak with her. On certain days—especially her birthdays—Mr. Dad would set up "expedition parties" in which he hid random trinkets in the playground and would sent Talhea and the others to go "uncover ancient artifacts." The other children would grow tired over the months and years, fewer and fewer joining her on these grand excursions into the great unknown. As their interest waned, so too did their friendship with her.

This problem exacerbated itself over the years, and friends she made as a toddler could now barely hold an exchange of more than a few words with her. Some moved out of the home, old enough to peruse jobs in the town or beyond. Others, the few lucky ones, would be picked by couples looking to add more to their families. Talhea was not always overlooked by these partners, but it was easier to pick the children that would laugh or cry. Not one that could barely muster a few blinks.
It never hurt her much. At least when the adopters left, she could return to her books.


On the morning of her birthday marking her into adulthood, Mr. Dad greeted her excitedly with a letter stamped with the city seal of Esbonton. Word of her remarkable proclivity for studying history had spread beyond her small country town into the larger cities. By the time she had reached the age she could venture off into the world, the Esbonton Society of History and Archeology had grown keenly interested in her capacity for knowledge.

Before she could even begin to process the news, she found herself sent off in a carriage much too ornate for the gravel-dirt road of her home-town.

The long and bumpy ride to Esbonton did nothing to quell her nerves. The vast majority of the textbooks she so lovingly poured over were written by professors from the society. Its school was comprised of the most capable and knowledgeable archeologists this side of the continent. The authors of her books had likely been to more places across the continent than she could dream of. To say she was anxious was an understatement.

As she was ushered from the carriage, up the marble steps of the university entrance, past the gatherings of students buried face deep into tomes, she could tell her anxiety was well founded. While they didn't look especially mean, Talhea knew none of them would give her any alumni-comradery beyond a general glance in her direction. A naive child-like part of herself hoped to form friendships with others who were just as devotedly passionate to history as her. But as she passed the 3rd gathering of students grouped tightly together discussing day-to-day dramas and school politics, she realized that her studying would be spent alone.


Her prediction was prophetically correct. While there would be the occasional student in one of her classes kind enough to share pencils and a few notes, the vast majority of her time was spent by herself. By her 4th year, she had grown entirely accustomed to the schedule of classes and assignments that populated her months.

What she didn't anticipate, was that her classes would shrink so exponentially. In her first semesters, her classes were held in grand auditoriums and taught by a variety of professors. By her current year, they hardly had enough students to fill a spare room in the library. Even more worrying, teachers had began retiring, or quitting outright, at a rate so excessively, there were only two left by the time she could truly begin working in the field.