text: The gentleman stood in the main foyer of the library, just passed the displays of ancient pottery pieces and giant lizard bones. Clearly, he had not taken to the baggy “swell” of modern fashion, instead he wore a simpler cut of suit. Upon his head lay a top-hat. I approach and stand to his left. Before us is a vast, curved wall that severs the noisy entrance hall from the solemn library proper. On this wall is a mural -- a mosaic of dark and jagged tile that tells the tale of Shardfall, Shatternight and the Second Great Fire of London. The birth of a new England and a changed world. The birth of new peoples and new ways. Details of the artwork are lost to us in the shadows that the evening has brought. The gas lamps cannot light such a space with any real efficacy. “Even in this eerie light,” I say. “I find it rather stunning.” There is a silence and then: “I cannot say I see the beauty of its form. Nor do I agree with how it chooses to depict that moment of London’s sad history. The scale and skill of the thing? I appreciate the craftsmanship.” Sad history? The moment that made him what he is and changed our planet...and he wraps it into such a small package as Sad History. I turn from the mural. The left side of his face bears no skin and the skull that is thus revealed is made of glossy black instead of pale bone. In his empty eye-socket sits a pin-prick of blue light. The sign of those wrought from the crystal and its impact. I present to him the top of my glove. “Adelia De Wight. A pleasure to meet you, good sir.” He turns and I see that his other eye is human, as is that side of his face. And, though the eye is of a darker shade of brown, it holds a warmth and brightness I would not have expected, given the stiffness of his character and harshness of his voice. I wonder what he sees? A young lady trapped in a cage of crinoline and purple taffeta, very much a part of the modern modes of dress that he so clearly avoids. Does he see more? He takes my hand with his right, sweeps off his hat with his left, and lowers his head. He does not kiss my hand. “Archibald Candle. A pleasure.” Greetings thus completed, he dons his hat and turns once more to the mural. “Well, I must leave you to it, Mrs-” “Miss.” “Ah, my apologies. Miss De Wight.” He touches the brim of his hat and gives a nod. “Farewell.” “Before you go, Sir.” I say. “Might I be so forward as to ask you: why is it that you dislike the mural so?” A moment passes before he once more faces me. “Are you aware that since its erection, some forty years ago, that the work has been altered? Often in secret.” I didn’t. “I have heard rumours of such.” “The Deadfolk seen rising from graves, and the other creatures born of crystal, have had their teeth filed -- and lessened -- the points of their claws have been rounded into fingers. Though they try to hide it, it was born of fear.” “Well. It can be a beautiful thing not born of beauty, and the views on-” “Yes. The world views us monsters *very* differently. Forty years of effort and I can now own property and earn a wage...many tax me for my form or outright refuse to barter.” “I do not think you to be a monster, sir.” “Splendid.” The word came without joy, served as it was on ice. “But, by the laws of science and medicine: I am not a man. By the rule of law: I am not a man. I am a subject of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, but never do I fall within the net as cast by the term human.” The face he had lost shimmered into view for a moment. A passing flicker of blue light that none could predict. The ten story octahedron wedged in a crater at London’s edge would have shimmered too, as would its sister crystal which had crashed and scattered across The Moon. I met his eyes with mine. “I would call you a man.” “Forgive the impropriety of this imagery, Madam, but were I clad in naught but sky, I would look in shape as a human, but in detail...” At this he looked once more at the vast mosaic, and raised his left hand. The glove was loose. Within, one guesses, is obsidian bone and wisp of magic. “A beast born of ugliness.” “...not born of beauty. But beautiful.” \* * * My WP Discord Secret Santa Story for Quiscover. This was a real challenge. Had soooo much I wanted to cram in but had to cut back to fit into the 800 word cap. Brilliant constraints (Thanks, Quiscover!) and an excellent excuse to write (Thanks, Say!) **Constraints:** * Genre: Historical fantasy * Word: Barter * Phrase: "A beautiful thing not born of beauty." * Object: Tiles * Place: Library (doesn't have to be the main setting) * Characters: Features at least one of BOTH a human character AND a non-human character.