Art Sales

They thought him strange. His collection of treasures: pearls and shells and mystical gems, all from the shores of the Scarred Wasteland. There were bound to be better bounties somewhere, anywhere not touched by Plague’s contagion. But despite various harpings and tentative suggestions, Rhodo refused to move.

He filled his lair with gems, a kaleidoscope of colors and wonders, and in time, he made something new. Armor, bejeweled hilts, and finery that sold for thousands. A craftsman, a master of his trade.

Some wondered why he didn’t leave. Surely any other flight would take him in. Yet Rhodo barely twitched at their words, arms laden with his latest collection of shells and pearls, and said, “I’m sharing my shinies with the world!”

Never mind the fact that Plague was only part of the world. Never mind that there were ten other flights who’d never experience his work.

But Rhodo just smiled and waved and showed off his latest project. A particularly sharp looking sword that while beautiful in its blues and greens, looked positively deadly.

People stopped bothering him after that.

(“You think he even knows how to use that sword?”

“Does that matter? Anyone who says “shinies” with a straight face is insane. And ‘insane’ and ‘sword’ do not belong in the same sentence.”)

She never expected it to last.

It certainly didn’t seem the basis of any type of relationship. Stealing her precious pearl and leading her on a chase that lasted for far too long. But one thing led to another, and with her pearl back in her possession, she began to notice his presence near the seaside every day.

“What are you doing?” she asked, curious despite her bruised pride. She knew she should chase him off, avoid giving him any other ideas about her pearl, but she didn’t. Curiosity, intrigue, and maybe a hint of something else, something colder and darker, stayed her hand.

“Collecting shinies.” And the way he said it, as if that was the most normal thing ever, had her smiling.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

And that had been that. But the Nocturne returned at the same time the next day, and the next, and their conversations soon deepened and lengthened until she was laughing at his antics and he at her jokes.

She wasn’t sure when it changed. When simple “friendship” became a want for something more. But some time between stealing her pearl and conversations that lasted long into the night, she found herself falling for him.

It was hard. Leaving the sea and everything she’d known for a drier world. For putting her trust in him, and hoping he wouldn’t lead her astray. But he took things slow, waited for her to get her bearings and choose a form, and showed her his world.

And though she occasionally missed the song of the sea, and the solitude of the depths, she was content.

You are loved.

In your sanguine disposition, your warm eyes. Voice as sweet as honey, laughter as soft as velvet. You stand solid and comforting, the cornerstone of our foundation, the light of our day. Always so willing, so selfless. Nurturing, caring, you gather us close, calming and reassuring, whispering sweet tidings and promising the world. You brush away our cobwebs, throw open the curtains, fill our days with wondrous light and chase away the darkness lurking close.

In the quiet of the room, in the warmth of the hearth, it’s you that we seek out. You who turns no one away. Your eyes, your smile, your laugh.

You’re exquisite.