Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ The D files: Dryden's Story ❯ Age 14: Indigo (part 2) ( Chapter 6 )

Authors' note: Sorry this took so long... these teenagers just don't shut up. By the way, we don't know anything about art or the art world-- that's our excuse if you find any glaring errors on our depiction of the art world and Indigo as artist.

Date posted: January 18, 2005

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"Porter service!" I sang out.

"Dryden? Well, will wonders never cease." Indigo set down the shipping forms she was filling out. "You're early!"

"Our office is closed today," I said, stepping into the studio with my hand truck rattling behind me.

"Closed!? It's a Market Day! There's no way your family would close today."

"Not unless everyone was incapacitated." I grinned at Indigo's bewilderment. "Some old knight came in the other day and wanted a loan. He was going to put up five guymelefs for collateral. ANTIQUES. So of course, everyone wanted to see these goods. Just about all the Fassas in town went to the warehouse where the guymelefs were mothballed to check them out."

I snorted. "Mothballed was right. No one realized it, but they had tons. Tons of mothballs, that is. All rolled up in the battle capes. When they brought out the guymelefs for inspection, their capes unfurled and BLAM! Instant cloud of pulverized mothballs. It was like a smoke bomb went off in the warehouse or something. Everyone in there wound up with wheezes and hives. Father's itching so bad he's in an oatmeal bath up his neck, and I doubt he'll come out for a week."

"Wait," interrupted Indigo. "You were there--how come you're fine?"

My mouth twisted wryly. "Apparently there are benefits to being the office grunt. Uncle Larish forgot his satchel_AGAIN_. I swear he's coming down with dementia or something. And it had the forms we needed for the transfer so guess who was sent back to the office to fetch it. I left right before they started opening up the storage units so I was two blocks away when all the excitement happened. I don't think I've ever been so happy about being messenger boy before."

Indigo shook her head. "Dryden Fassa, your timing's so good it's almost scary."

"Isn't it? And that's what's going to have me hurtling to the peak of success!" I declared, striking a dramatic visionary's pose.

Indigo rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe you can hurl yourself and that hand truck over HERE so we can get this crate packed."

"As you wish." I maneuvered the hand truck carefully through the chaos of Indigo's studio to where a large empty crate lay upon the floor.

"Did the House Guards give you a hard time about bringing that in?" Indigo asked as she moved paint cans and bundles of mixing sticks out of my path.

"Nah," I replied, kicking coils of twine away from the hand truck wheels. "Last week, I brought a ram's horn trumpet and a double-necked bass lute as props for rehearsal with Eries, and they didn't even bat an eye. They'd probably let me in here with anything short of a Fanelian mammoth yak." Recently it seemed like I was spending all of my spare time at the Royal Family's Residence. When I wasn't rehearsing for the play with Eries, I was helping Indigo with her art school application under the pretense of sitting for a portrait for my mother's birthday. "Considering how much I've been coming here lately, I might as well be a permanent guest."

"Now THAT sounds like something that would be music to Meiden Fassa's ears."

I scowled. "Ugh. Puh--lease. Hearing about your crazy aspirations I'll tolerate. But not his. I get enough of that at home."

Indigo raised an elegant eyebrow. "If my aspirations are so crazy, why have you been helping me?"

"Because I've a soft spot for the clinically insane."

"You're such a dope." Indigo feigned throwing a punch at me, and I responded by dropping to the ground in mock agony. As usual, my performance was so ludicrous that within seconds we were dissolving into giggles.

If any of our agemates had seen us, the former antagonist and antagonizee, associating so easily like this, they would have been completely baffled. Considering our history, I myself would have guessed the chances of Father renouncing all worldly goods to become a monk were more likely than this comraderie springing up between me and Indigo.

"Come on," said Indigo after our laughter had subsided. "We've an art school application to prepare."

"Right." I sprang to my feet. Much of my time in Indigo's studio was spent as her slave, fetching various items from her shelves and cabinets because, as she put it, "you're tall and I'm not so you might as well put that ridiculous height to some good use." By now, I was so familiar with this room I knew exactly where to get her packing materials without asking.

Meanwhile, Indigo went to her storage area to retrieve three pieces of artwork: a collage, an oil painting, and a watercolor.

Her essay submission.

She had initially thought I was nuts, proposing to submit pictures in lieu of essays for the entrance questions. However, she quickly warmed up to the idea when I pointed out to her that if art was considered a medium of expression, why shouldn't she use it to present her answer, especially if that was her best means of communicating? It was gambling that the admissions committee would be open to the notion that art was a language unto itself, but if that idea was going to fly anywhere, it was going to be at Floresta Academy.

With an expertise gained from months of handling the delicate treasures in my family's warehouses, I had the paintings wrapped in padded cloths and snugly stowed amongst cushiony packing pellets in the crate in no time.

"Wait a second--can't forget this." Indigo reached over to place a small packet into the crate. It contained an explanation of her "essays" and the remainder of her application.

"No, definitely cannot forget that," I agreed, as I eyed the level of pellets in the crate. It was just shy of being full so I jogged off to get some more. Returning with the bundles under my arms, I noticed Indigo staring fixedly into the crate as if mesmerized.

I ripped the pellet bags open, emptying their contents into the crate. "Having second thoughts?" I teased. "There's still time to back out if you like."

Indigo shook her head emphatically. "No.... no, it's not that. I'm a little nervous about sending this, and what they'll say, but I want to make an impression, and even if it's a bad one, it's better than all of this languishing in a closet."

"So what is it then?"

Her expression softened. "It's just... I was thinking how I wish Lavender could share this, too."

I gulped. Me and my big mouth. I really needed to stop bumbling into girls' private thoughts like this. "Uh... I... you know she'd be proud of you. Your mother, too," I said hastily.

"I know, I know. But you know what the strange thing is?" She tilted her chin up to look at me. "If it weren't for the fact that I lost both of them like that, it never would have been in me to create anything like this," she said, gesturing towards the three paintings. "I would just have gone on painting shallow things, following shallow dreams, living a shallow life."

She dropped a hand into the crate and let her fingers rifle idly through the pellets. "As much as I would like to have both my art and my sister, I don't think that it would be possible. Isn't that pathetic?"

An awkward silence hung in the air between us. Frantically, I tried to come up with a response, something appropriate and profound, something to assuage the guilt that obviously burdened her. But nothing came, and all I could do was stare at her mutely.

Indigo lowered her dark eyes first. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get all moody and depressing on you--"

"No, no, that's OK," I blurted. "You're being honest, and I-- don't mind that. I just wish I had some answers for you, and I don't. All I can do is listen."

"I wish I had the answers, too. Though there probably aren't any to be had. But I do appreciate you listening, Dryden."

"Any time." After a pause, I added, "You know, you really have changed, Indigo."

She gave me a small smile. "Have I now? I hope it's for the better."

I nodded vigorously. "Oh yes. The old Indigo never would have dreamed of leaving home, let alone orchestrating it in such a sneaky way. Old Indigo would be obsessing over how to best fit the mold of Asturia's haut monde instead of plotting how to overthrow the status quo of the art world. And the old Indigo wouldn't be having this conversation with Dryden Fassa right now. I think I like the new Indigo very much."

"Well, that's good, because old Indigo isn't coming back," replied Indigo with a laugh. "C'mon, we've a very important item to ship. So hop to it!"

I saluted. "Yes, ma'am!" I moved to heft the crate lid into place while Indigo finished completing shipping documentation.

Indeed Indigo had changed in many, many respects. Her life had been a charmed one; she had had just about everything a young girl could wish for: status, a loving family, health, beauty. Rudely awakening to the fact that even her life was not exempt from the ruthless whims of fate had been a harsh lesson. But it had opened her eyes to the precious and precarious nature of life.

She never told me that, not in so many words. But I could see it. It was barely noticeable when she was at lessons or making social appearances or performing other obligations, but it was all too obvious in the sanctuary of her studio. There she seemed a person possessed, the way she was so focused on her work, the way she strove to get the most out of every moment, out of her resources, out of herself.

It was as if she was trying to live a life full enough for both herself and the sister she had lost.

A distinct air of melancholy lingered about her; however, she was determined not to let it overwhelm her, determined not to succumb the way her father had. From what I could see, she would push past it. There would be scars, but she would be stronger for it.

Lavender would be proud, I'm sure.

"What?" Indigo's voice startled me out of my thoughts. Apparently, I had been staring at her without realizing it, and now she was glaring at me suspiciously.

"I was just thinking...."

"Oh?" Indigo's posture stiffened ever so slightly.

"Yeah. I think you're going to have an amazing legacy, Indigo."

Indigo blushed slightly at the unexpected compliment. However, her voice was sure and confident as she replied, "Thanks. I fully intend to."

-=-=-=-=-=-=

I couldn't sleep.

Tired as I was, I should have fallen asleep even before my head hit the pillow. Tonight though, the gears of my mind were whirling madly away and showed no signs of slowing down.

With a frustrated growl, I sat upright in bed and finally gave up trying to push away those thoughts that had been gnawing away at my consciousness since early evening.

Today had started off blandly enough. Training at the family warehouse in the morning and a shift in the office in the afternoon. Everything had been routine until the message arrived.

"Meet me in the studio tonight."

The note was unsigned, but Indigo's graceful feminine script was unmistakable.

'Nette often commented that I had curiosity enough for three people. This could be a good thing, but today it nearly drove me insane. I was near positive it had to do with her art school application. However, her note did not give the slightest hint as to what the outcome was, and I had no recourse other than to wait till evening.

So it was about an eternity later that I sped over to her studio. She was waiting expectantly by the windows when I burst into the room. Wordlessly, she merely held out a letter with trembling hands.

I opened it. It was an acceptance letter. Indigo was going to Floresta!

I whooped and, grabbing Indigo's hands, jumped up and down, unable to contain my excitement. Indigo began laughing and crying at the same time. We rejoiced there together, doing a crazy jig haphazardly about the cluttered room until I inevitably tripped over my own feet and we collapsed into a giddy heap upon the stone floor.

Challenges still remained for Indigo. She had yet to tell her father and most likely would be forced to defy him in order to pursue her dream. And simply being accepted to Floresta did not ensure her anything. It was merely the first step in what most likely would be a long, arduous road.

However, at that moment, none of that mattered. Indigo was on her way, and that was reason enough to celebrate.

And that was why I couldn't sleep tonight.

Having known Indigo so long (since infancy, in fact), it was striking to see how far she had gone. She, like most of the girls in our social circle, had simply been drifting through life. Eries was the notable exception. The drive in Eries for excellence was remarkable. But even with Eries, she was merely following a role dictated before she had been born, bearing the burden of her rank with as much grace as possible.

But with Indigo, it was different. There was a passion in her that had never existed before. It both consumed and spurred her on. The spark of determination in her eyes, the loftiness of her goals, all this from discovering what she was meant to be and embracing it fully. It was as if her art brought her to life.

Sinking deeper into thought, I curled into a ball, resting my chin on my knees. Until now, Indigo had never made much of an impression on me. Certainly, she was an agemate, one of my favorite victims to tease and torment and, as we entered adolescence, someone to occasionally fantasize and have indecent thoughts about. But, discovering this other side of her, this hidden, ardent spirit was so compelling that I found myself caught up in her vision before I knew it. Indeed, Indigo had not had to persuade me or coerce me for my help at all. I had simply done it, willingly, with no strings attached (which, for me, was very unusual). Indigo's passion was infectious and seeing her jubliance today was as stirring as having my own dreams come to fruition.

That's when I realized it. I was jealous.

I slung my legs over the side of the bed and padded across the room to a bookshelf where I pulled out the old, red ledger my mother had given me so long ago. I set it upon my desk with a thump and lit the lamp.

Starting at page one, I proceeded to skim through the contents of my journal. It had been some time since I had looked at the earliest entries, and I marveled at the progression of my handwriting from painstaking childish script to the inelegant scrawl I now used when I wasn't obliged to be too tidy with my letters. My perusal did not take very long. Upon reaching the final entry, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

It was as I had suspected.

Mother had encouraged me to write for the purpose of clarifying the direction of my life, but all that lay within the pages were accounts of the inane antics of my childhood and carnal longings of my adolescence. Material for a comedy, perhaps, but certainly nothing of depth. The only thing even remotely profound was a rather wretchedly worded poem I had penned when Lavender died.

I frowned slightly as I contemplated the possibility that perhaps I was sleepwalking through life as much as the scatter brained girls that I liked to mock. Despite our obvious differences in the intellect and my propensity for juvenile pranks, I also for the most part was simply doing what people asked and expected of me, playing my role in society and preparing to be my father's heir. It was comfortable, and I had been too complacent to look beyond the roles pre-scripted for me to figure out if that was what I really wanted out of life. Seeing Indigo and the transformation that had taken place within her, I knew that I wanted to make that same kind of discovery for myself.

Abruptly, I straightened up in my seat. Undoubtedly, I would figure this out. After all, I was not brilliant for nothing. It was just a matter of realizing that there was a puzzle to be solved, and then the rest would eventually be worked out.

The worn, old journal was open to where I had written my last entry. Beyond that lay pages and pages of open space.

I picked up my pen and dipped it.

With purposeful strokes, I wrote:

"I want to find something to be passionate about the way Indigo has."

========-=-------=----

"Wow! You can actually take two steps in here without crashing into something now."

"Ha ha, very funny. I'll have you know, there was nothing wrong with the way I had my room organized. It's just that you're such a humongous klutz that you kept knocking things over."

"Ooooh! You wound me! For that, I will exact retribution. I will proclaim all over town--no, throughout Asturia-- that Maya Marie Torres is actually Indigo Aston in disguise, and that I, Dryden Fassa, posed for her first nude!"

"DRYDEN!!!"

Indigo was undeniably furious now, and I was savoring every second of it. After all, tomorrow Indigo would be boarding a leviship for the mountain country, and it would be months before we would see each other again.

As anticipated, Prince Nueva was dismayed by Indigo's choice of vocation and relocation. Indigo, however, was resolute. Despite her father's protests and numerous attempts to dissuade her (using liberal amounts of guilt, I might add), she was firm in her decision. The fact that the Floresta Academy was offering her a full scholarship made it that much easier to kick off her fetters. In the end, Prince Nueva relented, if reluctantly and unhappily. These last few weeks leading up to her departure had been stormy, but the end was in sight.

Very few people knew of Indigo's true destination. Determined to be judged solely on the basis of her own talents and not her family name, she intended to maintain her alias as long as possible. So far as anyone else was concerned, Indigo Aston was leaving for an extended stay at a great-aunt's country estate in De Venus, and in a few days, instruction at the Floresta Art Academy would begin for a new class of students, including one Palasian named Maya Marie Torres.

Right now though, "Maya Marie" seemed intent on keeping abuse upon for me.

"Wow!" I exclaimed when she was forced to pause in her rant to take a breath. "With a tongue like that, no one would ever guess you were a genteel family's daughter."

Indigo fumed. "Dryden Fassa, you're the only person I know infuriating enough to turn a fond farewell into a good riddance. I have half a mind to take your thank you present and--"

"Present!? You've a present for me?" I squealed, dancing around her.

Indigo crossed her arms and shot me a dark look. "Yes. But right now, I'm seriously reconsidering. Give me one good reason why I should give it to you."

I threw out my chest. "Well, I AM your number one fan after all."

"If that's the case, I need a new fan base."

I deflated, crumpling to the floor. "Oh, you are too cru-u-e-e-l! Don't you know? Your art is my air, my food, my drink! It's what sustains me in this gray, dreary world. For you, I would do anything, swim the highest mountains, scale the widest plains, dive the--"

"Augh, Dryden!! Enough, enough! Spare me your theatrics, and I'll give it to you."

"YIPPEE!!!"

As I followed her to retrieve my gift, I found myself sneaking glances at her. Indigo had always been unusually pretty. But somehow, she seemed almost radiant now.

And it wasn't the kind of beauty to be brought on by jewels or cosmetics. I have seen her at fetes turned out in grand style, and she was nowhere as stunning then as she was now, in paint stained work garments and her hair askew in an untidy ponytail.

Or maybe it was just me, realizing how much I would miss her and meeting in this place.

I mean, I knew this was coming, had worked to bring about this event. However, it was only now, seeing the walls devoid of artwork and the room's usual hodgepodge of art supplies either boxed for shipment or neatly packed away that the reality of her leaving began sinking in .

Indigo stopped before one of the storage closets and pulled the doors open. "Here we go."

To my surprise, two objects carefully wrapped in storage blankets lay within. Worried about leaving her paintings in the old laundry for an extended period of time, Indigo, over the last several days, had either given away or moved (with my help) into her private rooms all of her art-- or so I thought.

She set the two bundles before me. "There. Something to remember me by."

I regarded them suspiciously. "This isn't some sort of hideous trick or--"

"Dryden, I'm not nearly that petty. Shut up and open your presents already."

Tentatively I pulled the covers off the first bundle. I was pleasantly surprised. "Hey, it's me."

"I figured that since we've been using the 'portrait sitting' as your alibi all this time, maybe I should actually make good on it," explained Indigo.

I held the portrait to the light to get a better look. It was as good as looking into a mirror. "This is great. My mother's going to love this." I grinned charismatically. "So, I really look this elegant and debonair, eh?" I drawled.

"No, not really. I just used some artistic license to smooth out your many rough edges."

I scowled at her. She smirked back and stuck her tongue out for good measure.

"ANY-way," I said, setting it aside. "Let's see what lies within Blanket No. 2." Eagerly, I reached for the second bundle and unwrapped it.

I gasped, momentarily dumbstruck by what met my eyes. Indigo seemed pleased by my reaction.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, "you really outdid yourself on this one. This is awesome!"

In my hands was a modern-styled painting. Against a stark white background was a riot of color-- pinwheels spinning, starbursts bursting, zigzags shooting, in bright primary hues. It was completely different from the first painting in every way, except one: the swirl of dancing hues formed a silhouette that matched the outline of my body in the portrait exactly.

My brows knitted. "I think I know what the inspiration of this particular piece is, though I'm almost afraid to ask."

"I call it ''The Mechanics of a Warped Mind' or 'Dryden Scheming.' Take your pick," Indigo said dryly.

I smiled broadly. "I think it's great! As brilliant and convoluted as the real thing. So what made you decide to paint this?"

"When I finished your portrait --how shall I say this?" Indigo cocked her head to one side. "I wasn't satisfied with it."

"Why not? It looks just like me."

"Yeah, on the outside. But the thing about it is that what's on the surface doesn't even begin to reflect what's beneath."

"But aren't we all a little like that?"

"Yes. But you're worse than most. Much worse. Anyway, the portrait just struck me as flat. Incomplete. So that's why I painted the second picture, to show what the portrait didn't."

"So the set combined captures the true essence of Dryden Fassa," I said proudly, holding up a painting in each hand.

"Something like that. And," she lowered her gaze, suddenly sheepish. "I realized something else when I started it. I... I've been incredibly selfish."

"What do you mean?" I asked puzzled.

"All this time, you've been helping me. When we've talked it's mainly about the things I want to accomplish and how to get me where I want to go. But it's all been about me. I don't think I've asked you once about what your dreams are."

"Oh, is that all?" I shrugged. "Indigo, it's not a big deal. I wanted to help you."

"It is a big deal. To me anyways."

I smiled, spreading my arms wide. "It's not too late. I'm standing here. Nothing stopping you."

Indigo hesitated only a moment before accepting my invitation. "All right. So... what is it that you want to get out of life, Dryden? What dreams lurk in that convoluted brain of yours?"

"Why, Indigo, I thought you'd never ask. Hmmmm... dreams, dreams." I pursed my lips, tapping a finger on my chin in a thoughtful gesture.

"You don't need to strain yourself trying to scrounge up something that's not there."

"Oh, I already know what I want," I stated confidently. Although in all honesty, if she had asked me a few weeks earlier, I would have had nothing to say. "And, in fact, I have two dreams, not just one. They're just not completely worked out yet."

"So out with it."

"My dream," I declared, "is to be part of something bigger than myself, to fulfill a role that only I and my amazing, brilliant intellect can fulfill."

Indigo was completely underwhelmed by my statement. "That's... very grand and --er-- more than a little vague."

"I told you it's still being worked out," I retorted, peeved.

"I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to belittle you or anything," said Indigo placatingly. "I guess it's just that things are so clear to me about what I want that I assumed it was the same for you."

I sniffed dismissively. "Details. But don't you fret, it'll all get worked out." Although, considering the amount of journal pages I had filled so far trying to sort through the possibilities, it might take the equivalent of two more ledgers before I had something concrete. "If my brain can't figure it out, I'm not worthy of the glorious destiny so obviously awaiting me."

"R-i-i-ight. So what about the second dream?"

"The second--" I opened my mouth to say it, but looking at Indigo's expectant expression, I immediately backed out. "My second dream is a secret."

"Dryden! No fair!" Indigo whined.

"Is so fair. You shared with me one of yours, and I shared one of mine. We're even. Speaking of which," I said, steering the conversation to another topic, "I expect great things from you, Maya Marie. Especially after all the time and effort I've invested."

"I expect nothing less of myself," replied Indigo stoutly.

"Write me? It's the least you can do."

"You'll be the fifth person I write to."

"Fifth!"

"Sorry, you'll have to take a back seat to my father and cousins."

I clenched my chest as though heartbroken. "Her No. 1 fan, and she puts me in fifth place. Oh, it's so hard to idolize a genius."

Indigo clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You'll survive. After all, you've my artwork and the knowledge that they will one day become priceless heirlooms to keep you going. Oh! Is it that late already?" Without us realizing it, the afternoon sun had slipped away, leaving the long shadows of twilight in its wake.

Indigo glanced at her timepiece. "I should go. Father and I are going to the Kesters tonight for dinner. Lord and Lady Kester wanted to see me one more time before I 'leave for De Venus.'" The corner of her mouth quirked. "I wonder what they would say if they knew I was leaving for Floresta for the next four years and not just a season at my aunt's."

Four years. Four years suddenly seemed an impossibly long time.

She stood, but instead of leaving, she looked about the room to drink in the sight of the space that she had spent so many hours in. "I'm really going to miss this place."

I felt exactly the same. But instead, I said, "The Academy will be even better than this, I'm sure. And besides, you're taking a lot of your tools with you."

"I know. But... it won't be the same. You know what I mean?"

I did. "Yeah."

Indigo squared her shoulders and said, "Well, I guess when it comes down to it, all I can really take with me is memories of this place."

She took a step towards the door. At that moment, a sense of urgency erupted inside me, a kind of dread at knowing something special would be irretrievably gone once we left this room. And that made me bold.

"Actually..."

She stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"There is one thing I'd like to take from here before you go--"

"Whatever it is, it's yours." Indigo's smile shone bright as sunbeams.

"Well then..."

I bent down and kissed her.

It was a brief kiss. The faintest brushing of my lips on hers. But every detail of that moment was stamped indelibly into memory. The smell of canvas oils mingled with the subtle scent of verbena in her hair, the pressure of my hand on her shoulder, the warmth and softness of her mouth, the soaring of my heart at this most fleeting of touches.

It was over so quickly that Indigo did not have a chance to react. Her eyes wide and disconcerted, she stared at me as if she wasn't quite certain of what just happened. "Dryden?" she whispered, her voice tremulous.

I was serious now, all hints of pretense gone. "The second thing I dream of, that I want to happen in my life, is that I want to fall in love. Wildly, madly, passionately in love. I want it with every thread and fiber of my being. And when I'm with you... I feel like I'm standing on the brink of something amazing."

Indigo took a faltering step back and looked away. "Dryden, I..."

"Indigo, I'm not asking for anything," I reassured her gently. "I'm not asking for an answer or promise. I want you to leave this place and make your dreams come true. But when you come back, if you come back, I hope that we'll be friends again. And, maybe, maybe we can become more than what we are now?"

Indigo's voice was pained. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because... what you made me feel is beautiful--even if you don't return it. And I wanted you to know."

"I... I should go." Indigo all but fled for the door.

"Indigo!" My shout stopped her in her tracks. "Indigo, don't forget your promise. You'll write to me, won't you?"

Without turning around, Indigo nodded curtly and retreated out of the room.

I stared at the exit for several moments after she left. It was undeniably the most awkward parting I had ever experienced, and all that because I decided not to keep my big mouth shut.

But I didn't regret it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Despite any embarrassment my confession might have caused, Indigo did keep her promise to me. About two weeks later, a postcard arrived from the mountain country. On one side was a painstaking depiction of the art academy campus and the surrounding scenery hand-drawn in pen and ink. When I turned it over to read the message on the other side, my eyes were met by only a single word: "Here."

I smiled. Apparently she would let her drawings do the talking for her. I tucked the postcard within my journal pages and happily awaited her next message.

But it never came.

About a month later, word came to the royal family at Palas that Indigo had fallen ill. The sudden change in climate had brought on a bad case of pneumonia. Not long after that, she died.

I cried.

It was a long time before I could open my journal again.

=-=-=-=-=-=

Next up: Marlene.