Sept 13, 4:00 AM
This eve once I had finished my preparations for the Equinox Harvest Festival, I was sent a summons to present myself to The Queen of Autumn, Rosalynne Graves. As I had already settled in for the night, I put on my jacket and shoes and gathered my things and made my way to “Old Town.” I laugh at these names, Old Town… it was barely a street the way I remember it… but the chaotic mass that has erupted in the past century… but I forget myself.
I made my way to Madame Moon’s, a quaint small psychic shop hidden among the saloons and books store and other antiquates. Upon my arrival, I made tea for myself and the two ladies. I can never tell if I’m imposing or complimenting either of them, both for differing reasons. The Queen seems to be single minded from time to time and I feel almost as though my courtesies are interruptions, whereas Madame Moon seems only to be humoring me, as if I were a small eccentric child. Something must be done.
Moon has more power than I believe any of the other in the court quite grasp. She is too certain for my liking. I believe she has potential to be my greatest friend or quite possibly, my worst enemy. And the Queen has me a tad befuddled. Her delightful demeanor and easy ways are disarming and I find her almost spring like in her passions. But I can only assume that is because she has hardened a wonderful worldly mask. If she is to be as tied to the court of fear as her mantle suggests, her duplicitous visage would be stronger than even mine. And yet I like her. It would bode well for me to ally myself with them soon.
Regardless, the Queen informed me that she and Madame Moon were discussing a dream involving myself and three other aspirants and the fates of not just our freehold and way of life, but quite possibly Changeling society as a whole. I did my best to remain calm and poised, but I fear that I let my tea cup rattle a tad, and the surprise may have been apparent upon my face. This could be good news for me. I have been looking for a way to get another foot on the path to greatness. I will say this; I can understand why the spring court views their position as one to be reveled in. The potential for power is greater now than EVER it was before I was taken.
I took the following moments to busy myself with Tea, and I set out three more cups, as there were three more chairs around the table, I assumed our guests would be filling them. A striking lithe woman entered first, her appearance could be summed up in a word, blue; from the cerulean of her lips, to the azure of her hair, to the beautiful sorrow in her eyes. She seemed a tad confused as to why she had been summoned; after all, she was not of our court. I would wager she was a Winter, and a cold one at that. She took her tea with sugar. I found her name to be Ainsley.
Moments later three others arrived. Wyatt, whom I knew to be one of the chief officers in regards to protection from the hedge and that which lies beyond it, and two others; a man and a woman, both fresh from the hedge, bewildered and terrified. The woman quietly entered as if she wished she were invisible. Slinking into the chair, she bashfully accepted the tea before her. She had a grey complexion and long slender fingers. Her eyes reminded me of the fictitious hobbit Smeagol after years of solitude in the dark. She was introduced as Emma. I dare say she appears to have a passion for the bound word almost a fervent as my own.
The gentleman took the seat next to me; he had bulbous growths on his face and hands. They were reminiscent of gourds set out during the harvest. He had muddy green hair and a mouth that would not stay shut. No less than three times throughout the course of the evening I had to remind him politely that someone else was speaking and he should remain silent. Definitely a Spring… perhaps a Summer. They tend to be the more boisterous and lively.
Once these three had settled in, The Queen requested Wyatt find the gentleman some food, apparently he was famished after his ordeal in the hedge. I came to find his name was Bryce, and I he was to be my ward… until other arrangements can be made. My current duties for the festival preparation have been put on hold or delegated to other capable members. I hope not to resent this poor lad, it is hardly his fault. He snores and is currently sleeping on my couch, and part of my coffee table. I think I may yet grow to like him. I hope he doesn’t get in my way.
So on top of my headlong pursuit of glory within the Autumn Court, I must now contend with a loud, unruly Spring, and a pair of silent Winters, and the fate of Changeling Society the world over. I have a feeling I should be rather put out, but I hope to find this task enjoyable. It sounds as if something sly and underhanded may be beginning… and my ears tingle at the thought of the Gentry being on the receiving end for a change.