Closed Dancing Shoes

[Kaley]

45 Fall 512 AV Kaley meandered the streets of Ahnatep, with a Gardener close at hand. In front of her, were her fellow concubines. They were always giggling and whispering. They reminded Kaley of clucking chickens. She watched as they covered their petite laughs with graceful hands. So full of life were they, while she felt rotting from within. Straying from them, she glided towards the back with their Gardener. She was wearing an emerald robe that fluttered open as she swished across the dust. The rocks, themselves, seemed to be giving off heat today. Fanning herself to cool down, she took a quick peek behind her. Yup, her shadow was still there, sweat pouring down his brow. Kaley felt a twinge in her stomach and quickened her pace. Undoubtedly, the Garden had become her home. The small moments when she did leave were always full of anxiety. Turning right on a sharp corner, then left and a second right. "Where is this place? It should be around here somewhere..." She continued blindly choosing roads, hoping her feet would lead her true. Her sisters were nowhere in sight. Stopping to catch her breath, she turned around. Her shadow had vanished. The corner of her lips turned into a devious side smile as she imagined the Gardener's fury. She had not even meant to allude him, at least, not this time. Patiently she sat on the cool stones surrounding a neighbor well. The Gardener came tearing from around the corner, wheezing with every step. Kaley stood up and gave him a coy smile, "We musn't loose me now, should we?" The Gardener gave her a blank stare, still trying to catch his breath. She could tell he didn't like her. The other clucking hens soon followed in a blur of colorful fans and silk parasols. There in the courtyard, they waited as Kaley climbed the steps. She had heard of a new seamstress in town. Kaley couldn't keep a dancing slipper longer than two seasons. The palace seamstresses created beautiful, delicate things that lasted her a month at most. No, she needed a slipper that could keep up with her rigorous training. She had hoped this newcomer had some durability about her, for that was the product she needed. Though, she did not expect much, this seamstress did not even own a shop. Reaching Sahkartaa's stoop, she raised her hand and gave a gentle "rap" to the door.

[Sahkartaa]

Sahkartaa's eyes fluttered over a worn book of magic, hardly reading the words, for she knew them by heart. Instead, her mind was thinking of the inscription placed on the inside cover of the aged book, meant for her mother, it read:
To my dearest, from Jafashre, of the Scepters.
She tried to divine the character of the man who had written it, from the cocky slash of the 'J' to the tricky curves of the 'S'.
Royalty. Sahkartaa had known it even before she read through books of Eypharian culture, and figured out what the Scepters were.

She sighed and closed the book, setting in the chest in the corner. She looked towards the bench; on it was a newly purchased Sewing Kit. It vexed her to need to work, when such mysteries awaited to be solved; but he who does not work does not eat. At the least the art of stitchery was a pleasing work in her eyes.

Tap, tap.

Sahkartaa raised her head. Getting to her feet, she opened the door. She closed her eyes. Then opened them. A woman clothed in a sleeveless dress stood there, practically glowing in the sun, copper skin shining, emerald eyes sparkling.
As much as Sahkartaa knew of Eypharian lore, of Anhatep's history, of the Jackals, of the people that dwelled with in this city... she had no real experience with customs: of the things people believed were so obvious that they hadn't even thought of putting in their books.
Which is why, the mistake Sahkartaa made - though inconceivable to some - was an easy one.

At the sight of this wild untamed beauty, neither Eyphyaian nor Dhani, Sahkartaa stepped back, and bowed.