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[Harlequin]

---

She didn't belong here. But no one would ever believe her.

Quinn peered through the tiny window in the door. There wasn't a soul in sight. There hadn't been since the night she arrived at the Lycaeum, and they locked her inside the tiny room. Save for two meals a day and a vial of something that smelled foul, and tasted worse, delivered first thing every morning. She'd only made the mistake of ingesting it the first day. She could no longer remember even breathing that day for the clouds that enshrouded it. Since then, her cooperation had reached its end.

And how long had it been? A week? Two weeks? Every day when the vial was delivered, a squat monk named Darius took her to the office of Brother Thomas. And Brother Thomas asked her to open up her soul for him to see. As if.

So instead, she showed him memories. Betrayal. First love forsaken. Lies. Promises forgotten. Trust given hesitantly and returned to her broken. All the reasons why she was better off alone. She had known that before. Why she had ever gone against her instincts, she couldn't begin to fathom. Life was far too short to take any of it seriously.

“People get what they deserve.” Her expression was cold, but not angry. Her tone was matter-of-fact. “I'm not mad, I guess I just had it coming.”

And he nodded, always nodded. And scribbled notes. And sent her back to her cell.

Quinn paced the tiny room, impatient and feral.

“Quinn!” The voice was that of the ever-cheerful Darius at the door. She wondered what sort of foul-tasting vial they fed him every morning. He opened the door and held out a package to her. “For you! It came just moments ago by courier, and I rushed it straight to you.” He handed over a small wooden crate marked only with her name. “I thought it might brighten your spirits...” His tone became a bit more tentative as he trailed off.

“Thanks Handsome. Scoot along, and I'll take a look, see who remembered I still draw breath.”

Darius watched her uncertainly, then ran a hand over the mohawk she'd convinced him to cut into his hair, much to the chagrin of Brother Thomas. He smiled again and shut the door behind him as he left with a bounce in his step.

Quinn opened the crate slowly and suspiciously. Inside there was no card, just a heavy, unmarked bulging cloth bag, a leather pouch full of silver gears with harlequin masks imprinted at their center, and three vials of paint. White, black, and red. Two brushes lay tucked in the crevice at the back of the box. In the center of it all was a nondescript brown paper parcel containing what smelled like cookies. On the parcel was written, simply, “Made by Jordan.”

Finally. Something she could eat without wondering who else had touched it. She tore into the brown paper and devoured two chocolate cookies, then opened the various contents of the box. She paused her chewing, mid-mouthful, when she opened the heavy bulging cotton bag. Her eyes went wide, and a slow smile spread across her face. She tied it up again hastily and paired it with the silver gears, hiding them all beneath the mattress of her bed, ever-so careful not to disturb the contents.

She didn't know who'd sent the gift, and at this moment, it didn't really matter. Nothing exciting had happened since she'd arrived in Moonglow. But all of that was about to change.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

---

Another box had arrived. Darius delivered it with the usual bounce in his step, and presented it to her through the open door of her room with a flourish.

“Another package, M'Lady.”

“Oh. Thanks, Handsome.” She took the small white box and set it aside. “I'll open it later. Let's talk about you.”

“M-me?” He stuttered a bit, taken aback as Quinn smiled and pulled her feet up onto the edge of her chair.

“Mhm.” She twirled a strand of her hair idly. “Right now you're just a pretty face with a mohawk. I want to know more.”

The young monk seemed floored, and stammered and stumbled through a rambling laundry list of his likes and dislikes. Penchants for sneaking sweets into the lycaeum, and eating them in Brother Thomas' office late at night, as he read from the old scholar's collection of mythology books. Apparently he liked pie. He mentioned it thrice. But as he spoke, something else caught Quinn's eye. She reached out and lifted the pendant he wore, leaning in to examine the silver medallion.

“What's this?”

“That's....oh. That's something my mother gave me, when I entered the monastery.” His breathing faltered, as her face was a breath away from his.

She looked up into his soft blue eyes and smiled genuinely. “It's beautiful. Who is he?” She traced a fingertip over the figure of a man carrying a child, hefted upon his shoulder. In his off-hand, the man carried a wooden staff.

“Saint Christopher, she said. It was something passed down to her by her grandmother. And her grandmother's grandmother.”

“And her grandmother's grandmother's grandmother?” Quinn grinned.

Darius laughed, still a little breathless from her proximity. “And hers, before that. He was from another place....”

She nodded, releasing the pendant and leaning back in her chair again. Darius exhaled slowly.

“Can you do me a favour, Darius?”

“Anything,” he stammered, quickly adding, “within reason.”

“Don't go to Brother Thomas' office tonight, all right? I just have this bad feeling...”

He nodded slowly, watching her with a furrowed brow. “You get these feelings often?”

Quinn looked back at him, sidelong.

“Where ya goin', Quinn?”

“Hmm?”

“C'mon, you're a caged bird here. I know it, you know it. If Brother Thomas hasn't seen it, he's he's crazier than yo....” he trailed off, stopping short, but not short enough.

Quinn tilted her head.

“I didn't mean it that way. I just know you're gonna fly away. And sometimes people feel lucky you landed there at all, even if it's just for a little while.”

Quinn regarded him quietly for a moment. “I don't know where, Handsome, but it'll have to be far from here.”

The young monk stood solemnly and ran his hand over his mohawk. “Guess I should go. I'll see you...”

“Maybe so.”

He half-smiled and lingered a moment before he left, then shut the door behind him.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

---

That night, a fireball rose fifty feet in the air above the lycaeum. The tremor could be felt from the Moonglow commons. A girl, painted white with black flourishes, dashed through the front gates as the guards ran toward the explosion. They would find hundreds of silver gears, imprinted with harlequin masks, embedded in the walls of what was once Brother Thomas' office.

Outside the gates, a white envelope awaited, pinned to a tree trunk. It bore the name “Quinn,” and tucked safely inside was a pendant, and a short note:

Quinn,

Saint Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. Please wear this in good health, and try to remember as you travel, to trust people sometimes. Because sometimes...they're worth it. And that's worth everything.

~D


Quinn quickly slipped the pendant over her head, and pulled from her pack the small box that had been delivered to her earlier in the day. It was filled with cookies, made by Jordan. She kissed her fingertips then pressed them to the top of the box, and left it at the base of the tree atop the collection of mythology books from Brother Thomas' office. Then, she disappeared into the woods, running headlong toward the ship that awaited her with lantern raised high, just offshore.

Written in script across the top of the box she left behind were the words...

Thanks, Handsome.
XO ~ Quinn
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar