Music Box

“That box emits noise,” she observed monotonously, eyeing the contraption that sat upon the table before her. Though the look could not be called suspicious–Riven never did really give any sort of a ‘look’, per se–a light sparked in those dark eyes that indicated she found it of interest.

“Yes, it’s called a music box. See the raised metal? When the pick moves over it, it creates sound,” Fable offered, turning the small box and lifting the lid so that she could see the sheet with its braille-like apparatus. She looked upon the box shrewdly for one solitary moment, then nodded.

“Interesting.”

He could not help but grin. Three weeks after her initial arrival in the tavern, he was still baffled–and furthermore amused–by her. She was as much the goddess in beauty, poise, and talent as he had originally thought: a skilled dancer, graceful, observant, even mystical; however, there was a child-like quality to her he could not quite place. He was surprised by what she did not know; the use of horses alluded her, jokes were misunderstood, she had never tasted milk or ale. He wondered distantly what land she had traveled from to be so unawares of what seemed so common in his life. He imagined her some foreign princess, far from home, with only the silver-eyed man as a protector. It was a nice fantasy. 

It was obvious that the man did not like Fable. Never did a smile grace his lips, his eyes blank but intense towards whatever he looked upon. He did not deign to give a name to any who asked, but was quick to rise to the protection of his impassive charge. Fable was surprised he had not yet come to blows with one man or another around the town, but something about the dark-haired stranger caused offenses to subside before they ever reached a critical state.

It was all peculiar.

Riven was still studying the music box before her. “Do you like music, my Lady?”

“I have only heard the likes of it a twice. It calls to my body, though this is much slower than before.” It was crafted to play a lullaby.

“You can have it if you’d like.” Dark eyes rose to meet his, piercing his very being with their gaze. She did not smile; he wondered if she could. Instead, she reached out a careful hand and drew the small box into her fingers, retracting her arm in one motion so that it appeared as though the box had been assimilated into her body.

“Thank you.”

She was certainly unusual.

~ by eeratka on November 27, 2007.