A Fairytale for Wizards

“I will bring it back within a week.”

“That soon?’

“It’s not even that thick,” Azriel said plainly as she eyed the book in her hand. 

“How incredible,” Warden admired her softly. “I’ve been seeing you for a while, but I still can’t believe it. For God’s sake, where did you learn Lemm?”

“Well… Frankly, I’m not sure.”

“You say that every time. Psshh. Just say you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s true. I have been able to read it for some time.”

“Huh. It’s not a language that anyone can learn so easily. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that a young woman like you—who is neither a wizard nor an aristocrat—knows it.”

“I know,” she smiled vaguely. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

Lemm was a complex language that was difficult to learn. It had existed since ancient times—even before Iskam the Great. It was nearly extinct as a spoken language, which made it even harder to learn. Only the written form remained in use today. Even Count Colte, an aristocrat, could only stumble through it with the help of a dictionary by his side. The Countess and Damon barely managed to memorize its alphabet. As for Deborah, she had already given up on learning Lemm. Azriel, on the other hand, had been able to read Lemm since she was young. Not only could she read it but she could also use it as freely as Limble. To be more precise, she realized she had suddenly become fluent when she was ten.

‘Since I didn’t even know how to read Limble when I was young, I probably mastered it during the three years that I can’t recall. What in the world happened to me?’

She then wondered why she could not remember the process of learning Lemm when she could read the text so vividly. She sighed softly. The mystery perplexed her, but she was not idle enough to ponder over it too deeply. Azriel put an end to her wandering thoughts and hid the book and package well in the inner pocket in the lining of her apron.

“I should go now. Thank you so much, Grandpa Warden.”

“I should be the one thanking you. Be careful on your way back.”

She closed the door behind her as she slid back through the piles of books. Though she had been looking down at her feet as she left, she looked up in response to a weird feeling that had overcome her and met someone’s eyes between the pillars of books who stood taller than her.

They belonged to a pale man. His long, flowing, silver hair gleamed even in the shade of the alley. Pale skin, tall height, and grey eyes that resembled a cloudy sky… The white robe that covered his entire body was free of any dirt, let alone stains.

His image did not blend in at all with the unkempt surroundings. He seemed as if he had been taken out of a watercolor illustration in one of Deborah’s fairytale books and dropped into the alley. The stark contrast between him and the environment around him was heightened even more by his beautiful face, which seemed to be perfect in every way. He almost looked as if he was in a separate world even though they shared the same space. Suddenly, Azriel felt her skin crawl. She reflexively stepped back, and her body swayed as her knee caught on a pile of books.

“…!”

As she fell backward, the many, precariously piled books collapsed in a row, making a loud noise. Luckily, she had not been hurt because much of the weight had been supported by other, nearby books, but she was still in horrible pain. The books were pressed against her wounded back, which had not yet healed since the morning. The pain was so great that she could not even utter a groan.

“What’s happen… My goodness!”

Warden, who had rushed out after hearing the commotion, was surprised by the mess. He reached a hand out to help Azriel up as she struggled.

“Are you not hurt?” he asked.

“I’m alright, but it’s my fault that your books…”

“Books, I can pile them up again, but how did you fall like this?”

“Over there…” Azriel began as she lifted her head, but soon she fell speechless. The space where the pale man had been standing was empty. Nothing was there. He had been right there for certain. Was it all her imagination?

“Over there?” Warden repeated.

“No, it’s nothing. I must have been mistaken.”

While shaking her head, she picked up the bag of butter, which had been rolling on the ground. When she looked inside, she saw that the butter was slightly crushed. She automatically sighed when she thought about how the head maid would be furious with her. 

“How stressed you must have been to hallucinate something,” Warden clicked his tongue as he patted Azriel’s shoulder. Her bony and feeble shoulder was pitiable. “Be careful.”

“Okay,” Azriel nodded with a smile as she began to pick up the fallen books. “I will.”

As soon as she started to stack the books again, the old man waved her off.

“You’re running an errand, right? I know you are busy. You can get back on your way.”

“I’m the one responsible for this mess. I have this much time.”

“I was going to reorganize them, anyway. I can take this chance to sort them out. Go on, quickly.”

“But…”

“Don’t say anymore but go now little girl, or you will get scolded more.”

“…I’m sorry, Grandpa Warden.”

“No problem.”

Azriel said her goodbyes to Warden as he waved her off and left the bookstore. Her back was still aching, but she could endure it.

‘Oh, I’m late. I’m in trouble.’

As she scurried to turn a corner, her feet stumbled over a stone jutting out from the pavement. Her body tumbled forward as the sole of her ragged shoe snagged and ripped on the stone. With both her hands occupied with the bag of butter, she could not stretch them out to brace herself. Thinking that it was indeed a bad day, she shut her eyes. At that moment, a light and soft breeze brushed past her and tickled her cheek. Her body paused mid-fall. Then, a pair of arms approached her from behind and grabbed her waist, picking her up. They withdrew once she was righted. A scent akin to birch hovered around the tip of her nose. Azriel blankly looked back.

‘I wasn’t mistaken for sure.’

The pale man she had seen before was standing right behind her. He was so tall that Azriel had to tilt her head back to gaze up at him.