'Siri'
Iris made her way through the ancient streets of the Sanctuary with determined stride. The days had begun to shorten and dusk was already on the horizon, thickening the shade. Every turn she took, her shadows followed, dancing in the corner of her eye.
Her father, Erasmus, staring straight at her from the side alleys. Radiating wrath with a murderous intensity, jaw tight with disdain.
The traitor he killed, eyes still as wood, but wet and glistening. Mouth gaping as if uttering a final cry. A warning.
And then, every once in a while, Elias.
Finally, she was in front of the Artist's Sanctuary. She left her ghosts out on the street when she closed the door behind her. This was the place. Having scanned the room, bright and full of colorful baubles and their more or less skilled makers, she proceeded to mile about, gathering bits and pieces of advice and materials.
Iris was not a talented craftsman, but she was a stubborn perfectionist, so she decided that her present for the trickster god would be made to a certain standard. For this, she needed help.
Her father, Erasmus, staring straight at her from the side alleys. Radiating wrath with a murderous intensity, jaw tight with disdain.
The traitor he killed, eyes still as wood, but wet and glistening. Mouth gaping as if uttering a final cry. A warning.
And then, every once in a while, Elias.
Finally, she was in front of the Artist's Sanctuary. She left her ghosts out on the street when she closed the door behind her. This was the place. Having scanned the room, bright and full of colorful baubles and their more or less skilled makers, she proceeded to mile about, gathering bits and pieces of advice and materials.
Iris was not a talented craftsman, but she was a stubborn perfectionist, so she decided that her present for the trickster god would be made to a certain standard. For this, she needed help.
