I have drawn closer to her, though I had not noticed so. In fact her companions are looking at me, and I ought to make some remark by way of introduction... Ah! but I know one of them after all, splendid.
        "Nila, darling! I wondered where you had gone to. We hadn't seen you in quite some time."
        "Not far, never far, especially from a party so well-arranged as this."
        "Our host is quite the artist," one of the young men interjects.
        "Ah, but you should see the parties Meres holds," Nila replies, with a smile toward myself. "The arrangements in which he lives each day are quite breathtaking, in their beauty and exoticness. And that is nothing to thee tableaus he creates for company!"
        I smile broadly, sweeping one arm wide, less in gesture than to show the details of my jacket. It is embroidered most cunningly with some thread which seems black, until it is moved, and the light catches at a thousand jeweled tones which suddenly appear in patterns of breathtakingly intricate detail. There is, as I had intended, a slight gasp of surprise, followed by astonished and admiring laughter. Yet the girl smiles only softly, her eyes seeming far away.
        "But Nila, you simply must introduce me to this charming young woman. We have not met, I think."
        He smiles, an expression filled with pleased cunning. "You have not. This is her first visit to one of our soirees, I invited her myself."
        "I should have guessed! You always do find the most interesting people to have us meet."
        He bows slightly, grinning. "It is my contribution. While you bring the artistry of exquisite setting, I bring the artistry of personality."
        There is another round of pleased laughter (as there always is) from our companions, yet the girl remains silent.
        "Nila! Does she not speak?"
        "I speak," she says softly, her voice so gentle and sweet that it fills all the space of the ranges below our loud, boisterous speech.
        All are quieted, so as not to overwhelm the beauty of her gentle tones. I smile broadly, and bow low, taking her hand in mine to gently kiss. Her hands are so small and delicate! Though they are gloved, I know by the smoothness of her arm that they would be delightfully soft, as gentle as her voice. I lift my eyes to hers, and she gazes back... and I feel as though her strange eyes of winter skies see far beyond the mere surface of my self. She shifts her gaze to a point just beyond my shoulders, following a slow path out from there---
        I could swear she is looking at my wings! My wings, oh, but how---
        "Oh see the funny bird!" she laughs aloud, and we are startled by the difference in her laugh. There is a brightness to it, a quality of some indefinable, luminescent thing, which we have not heard in so long...
        But we turn to look, and see some bird with exquisitely long and bright plumage, perched on a weeping cherry tree at some little distance. It is hopping from one branch to another, fluttering up in startled confusion as the branches, too slim to hold its weight, droop away beneath it. We chuckle in amusement, but my heart is still shaken by my assumptions, though they were misplaced.
        "Dear child," I begin again. "Have you enjoyed your day here?"
        "I am no child," she rebukes sharply, and I smile to see her confidence. "I shall be sixteen in a week, though I am slight for my age." Her eyes are no longer distant, but sparkling and focused... though they still hold something farther off in their depths. I am certain that is what led Nila to bring her here, it is quite an intriguing mystery.
        I almost wish not to define it, for then she would become no more than one of the many roses which decorate the stage.
        "But you asked my thoughts on the party," she resumes, her delicate fingers brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. Her lips are not painted scarlet, as those of the other women, but are a soft, slightly shimmering pink, as cherry blossoms kissed by morning dew. "It is... oh I don't know. It is interesting, of course, I am hardly bored. But I seem to be out of place. All of the women are so sensual and voluptuous, while I am a mere sapling, with no shape to me at all, and hardly the experiences of a coquette at flirting so gracefully."
        "Oh, but Niles delights in odd juxtapositions, my dear," I answer smoothly, offering her my arm. "May I borrow her, Nila? I find her quite soothing to the eyes."
        He laughs lightly, shooing us away with a wave of his hand. "Oh away with you! You are forever a thief, Meres."
        "All art is theft, did you not know? But I shall return her before the day is out."
        We stroll away, and some jest is made, for the loud laughter billows out behind us, seeming almost to propel us away into the meandering paths of the gardens.
        "You know, you have yet to ask my name," she remonstrates. I should almost think her rude, her tone is so inappropriate for speaking with a superior! But she is young, which causes all faults to be forgiven. And so I smile, and ask her name.
        "Cerise Walker. And yours?"
        "Have you not heard it already?"
        "Of course, but is it not impolite to use it without invitation? Perhaps you would rather I call you by your surname and whatever honorific is most appropriate."
        I laugh aloud. "Cerise my dear, you are quite an odd mixture of mannered and rude. You have switched from one to the other with every sentence I have heard you speak."
        She smiles ruefully and seems about to apologize, but I wave a hand to prevent her. "Darling, you are young, it is forgiven. And I find your company interesting, which is more than I can say for many others. But yes, you may call me Meres."
        She nodes in acknowledgment, then looks at me, with a steady, thoughtful gaze, her eyes again gaining that strange depth. "That is not your real name."
        I stop still and stare at her, surprised and unsettled. She did not ask, but stated it, as a fact she was entirely certain of, as casually as one might mention that the moon is full one evening.
        It is a long moment, before I find words, and can attempt a nonchalant manner. "And what, pray, might lead you to think that?"
        She shakes her head, the mystery in her eyes clouding over and receding. "I do not know... I simply feel it is not your true name. It is the same for Niles. The names simply don't match the person I see, there is some disconnect that I cannot explain."
        I begin walking again, though more slowly, deep in thought. My voice is slow and... oh not hesitant, but distant. "There is no use in me attempting to deny something you already know... especially something that you know the same certainty as, as one knows something to be beautiful, or ugly... Tell me, dear, are you a seer?"
        She looks puzzled by this. "I am not certain what you mean. I see, I have vision, I am not blind..."
        I smile gently at her. "Ten I see your talents may be untrained. Do you often have such strong intuitions?"
        She shrugs, and plucks a bit of honeysuckle from a trellis we pass beneath, twirling it idly between her fingertips. "At times. I don't often speak of them; they always upset Father so."
        "And yet you speak of them to strangers."
        She laughs, with a bitterness far deeper than one would expect from a face so fresh. "You, unlike he, will not go into a rampage, screaming at me for the sins of my ancestors. As if it should be my cross to bear, that my father's mother found other things more important than spoiling his every childhood whim."
        "And this relates to your, peculiar insights?"
        "She had them, too. Father hated it. He says she became more and more entranced by what they revealed, and she became a witch, or something akin to that, and left her family behind. Though by then he was more than old enough to care for himself, and his father was quite well off.
        "Oh but I ramble so! I must be boring you, I do apologize."
        I laugh and pat her hand, which is still holding to my arm. "Not at all, my dear, I am quite fascinated. I see it was not solely for contrast that Nila brought you to us. I must tell you that he makes it a habit to know, usually in advance, the entire family history of every person he holds a single conversation with - a bit of an obsession, with him, really. But I must say that your father sounds to be a terribly unsympathetic man. Is he always so harsh with you?"
        "He was, but is no longer," she answers lightly. "I have left his house, and stay with the family whose inn I work at. Waiting tables and fixing dinners, mostly, though a bit of cleaning, and entertaining the customers, being the pretty face about the place really."
        "I see - a wise choice on your part, to leave, though I am certain he did not think it to be. Your grandmother... you have never met her, then?"
        "Never, though I often wish I had. Not only is her blood seemingly strong in me, but anyone who my father does not get along with, I assuredly will."
        "And you do not begrudge her gift to you?"
        "Not at all - I only wish I had more explanation for it. You say that I am a seer?"
        "Perhaps... it remains to be seen, really, the extent of your abilities, but I am certain you do possess something unusual. If you would like, I do know of a few persons... in that area of study, who might be able to guide you."
        She pauses a moment, then smiles warmly. "I should very much like that."
        I wonder if it is merely in rebellion against her father, or if she truly wishes to hone an ability which should mark her as an outcast of polite society all her life (and perhaps even beyond that.)