Chapter Text
In the mighty silver cities, night was both a blessing and a curse.
Even under the unwatchful gaze of the academy’s guards, for a gremlin, night meant your peers were vulnerable.
Night meant mistakes, risks unconsidered and promises broken.
So, as soon as the moons got to the top of the sky to mock her silent struggle, Eliora got up from the ground.
Picking up a cloth and a bucket, she approached the stolen creatures of rock and steel, looking so pristine, yet defiled by their own existence.
She wetted the cloth and began scrubbing one of the statues with care.
“What an unfair existence you have,” Eliora murmured, unsure if those words were to the man of metal or herself. “forever bound to you captors and coerced form”.
The only sounds that could be heard were the light snoring of the guard on the other side of the door, the brushing of the cloth on rough materials, and a single leak that came from the ceiling, beginning to form a puddle.
Every drop felt deeply calculated, mathematically timed to drive a woman to complete insanity.
Like the unmoving gargoyle on the other side of the room.
A drop.
Eroding her mind like the statue, now crumbling to scrap in front of her very eyes, every spot of dust diging into her hands until they felt like bleeding.
A drop.
The room was now flowing with water, reaching her simple olive dress beyond repair, all while a gargoyle she had to maintain looked at her with bright and dangerous eyes.
A drop.
There was no task to finish, yet she kept scrubbing. There was no way out.
A drop.
There was no way out, there was no way out, there was no way out.
A drop.
Thereisnowayoutthereisnowayoutthereisnowayout.
The leak is gone.
Laying on top of the steel statue, cloth in hand, layed Eliora.
She turned to the gargoyle. Eyes as dead as she left them.
She turned to the puddle, and turns out, it never was.
It was still night, thankfully, the moons looked less amused than last time, intrigued yet not guilty. Never guilty.
“What will this hopeless one do?” The silent moon seemed to whisper
“Perhaps drown in her tears, like her dream foretold” The wrathful moon roared, as if challenging the girl into proving her wrong.
“No” The wise one spoke evenly “look into her eyes, my dear sisters”
Moonlight bathed the lonely child as she looked out the barred window. A cold and calculated gaze adorned her relentless face with a new spark, as the moons realised her intentions.
A spark of hope.
“She plans to run”.