A sea bereft of waves. Timepiece ticking, hanging by her waist. She held it up, filigree work glinting gold in the light. It sparkled like a star, and it glowed like one too. The amber flickering interior. If you held it to your ear you would surely hear a soft whirring mechanism. On its face, one swirling clock hand whizzed sprightly around and around, running somewhere and already quite late. The other, a blue azure dagger shape, sprang forward and halted, before springing forward again.

And lastly there was the one that never changed, always stayed the same, pointing towards the twelfth hour.

A soft breeze drifted in from the north, pulling her hair back from her face like a mother's hands. She looked up. The boat was arriving. White sails fluttering, set a-rush in a flurry. The gold-crinkled stars on the cloth aflame. Sand stirring, rising about the marram grass. She picked up the rucksack by her feet. Watched as a plank was lowered into the quiet tides, rising and falling like the breath of a dreaming child.

Boarding, the strange figures on the boat- they almost seemed like illustrations, rather than actual people. Their colourful robes and scarves and peaked hats, eyeglasses, swords and tunics. All a tad too vivid for the soft world hanging about them. 

Whirling paths deviating off into uncharted destinations.

She stopped and paused, toes curling into the soil beneath her feet. Hands clenching and un-clenching. Unable to remember who she was. The sky above bleeding red onto dry, clumped sand. A barren landscape interrupted only by the occasional burnt husk of a dead fir.

The dirt beneath the flats of her feet was hot with the warmth of the dying sun. Uncomfortably so. Shifting so her heels would not burn was only a temporary reprieve until she put one foot down again, switched it out for the other. No choice but to continue walking, into the distance.

This was a path she couldn't stray from. Denoted by lines of white pebbles, bleached by a million stars and suns, paving the way. They reminded her of seashells on a strand of beach. Except this shoreline did not end, it stretched away into a haze of tangerine, shimmering like a satin curtain.

How long had she walked? Her skin had not burned quite yet, although her hair had grown longer, fairer. She didn't remember what colour it was before. She didn't remember exactly what she looked like, either. Every time she glanced down at herself, a suggestion of something was certainly there, but as soon as she looked away it was gone. Unimportant.

To depart from the path, to step off. The thought glazed across her mind now and again, like one of the birds that would flit across the perpetual setting-sun-sky, gone before she took proper notice.

It was only when she came across the strange form on the horizon that the girl consciously paused. Its crude figure interrupted the monotony of endless dunes of coarse sand. The soles of her feet burning - the intense pain snapping her out of a reverie. She fell from the path, clutching her toes as she tumbled. Into the zig-zag dips of the mounds.

Blinking back tears from her eyes, she looked up at the curved black lump of metal on the horizon. It glinted in the moonlight.

Moonlight? When was the last time she had seen the moon? The stars. Vast sprawling lights hanging above, thousands of pearl-drop lanterns.

She looked down at her emaciated fingers. She was worn through. But a light near that dark hull of a structure, half buried in the sand- if she couldn't reach it she knew she would die soon.

Crawling, climbing, up and down the waves of sand, slipping and rolling- the building grew nearer and nearer. The girl tried to cry out, but her voice failed her. Hoarse from lack of water. She pulled herself along, closer and closer to that otherworldly blue beam. A figure stood up, dark in the lowlight. It came towards her as she finally blacked out.

She found a wind-up box in the woods.

Ran her hands over it, feeling the curves and latches, the little pearls and golden hearts. It was hand painted. Dioramas of starlit skies and oceans, all melding together in a rich blue. Whoever made it had embossed it with jewels and shimmering materials. It was a diamond itself- it shone in the sunlight, fragmented rainbows dancing on the tree bark.

Holding it up to the pale blue sky, turning it about.

She almost didn't want to open it. It was so beautiful to look at she couldn't bear to see what was inside- as if that would ruin it. What if the gentle music wouldn't play? The cogs arranged on the back- golden, riveted with filigree flowers- seemed in perfect working condition.

What if it just simply was silent? And empty. A beautiful, hollow thing.

She took a deep breath and opened it.

The box itself was quite small- it couldn't hold that much. But what was inside took her breath away.

A small diadem, silver, little stars hanging down from the main circlet. Translucent colourful little things that rested on her temples, falling further down her hair. The silver band that encircled her head winded and twirled in arabesque curves, like little vines. So delicate.

Next was a choker- lacy white, fitting snug around her neck. Its edges frilled out like butterfly wings, the middle attached to a blue-metal necklace that held the lace body around her throat. Beaded gemstones that glowed like starfire, little amulets falling down to her collarbones. Flowers and symbols and hieroglyphs. Dancing around her neck and shoulders as she moved. At the very front, surrounded by pearls, was a large moonstone. It almost resembled a looking glass, it was so reflective.

And lastly was a ring- of a sort. It was really, several rings, joined together for one finger. Winding and weaving, opalescent jewels like dewdrops embedded in the slender white metal. It moved freely, slinking up and down her finger as she moved it. Like water on a leaf, dripping downwards.

Who did these treasures belong to, the girl wondered. She had found the box perched by the river, almost entirely invisible, locked between surfaced rocks. It was lucky the waters hadn't pulled it downstream to the lilypond. It would have been lost forever beyond the dark green surface.

She couldn't take them. They weren't hers. But she couldn't leave them here either- they would be never found again, and would be ruined by the elements.

Or could she? Perhaps it was better such enchantments were never seen by the human eye. All would long for them.

Wouldn't they?

She toyed with the box. The gauzy ribbons flowing out from the contents. It was coated with velvet walls.

She almost had forgotten to wind it up.

After returning the items to the contents, detangling the ribbons from the plaits in her hair, she began twisting the cogs carefully, until they tightened just so.

And then she let go.

And the music filled the air. Delicate, twinkling notes, requiems of the empyrean, the very filaments of the universe. Swelling around her, and she felt as though the entire world sang with it.

In the center of the box, a tiny flower blossomed. It had emerged from the mirror, which had divided in two, folding back on itself.

The flower petals curled outwards, each new layer of the bud unfolding, until only the centremost remained. Each petal was a different colour- all made of glittering glass.

After her tears had abated the girl reached out to caress the center- which hadn't unfolded still. Should she rewind the cogs? Try and open it-?

But with her touch it sprung apart. And a white glittering haze, smelling of sweet lavender and burnt wood. It fell upon her skin, and she looked down at the sheer coating of musk that sparkled with the sunlight. Dust on her skin

She closed the box, gently latching it together.

No, she couldn't leave it here. It was far too precious.

As she walked home, despondent, she studied it from all angles. How could she ever return this to the owner? But worse still, how could she keep it? The notion that she had stolen this gift from another would ruin any joy she took from its beauty.

The moon was rising, and there was her cottage, in the distance.

She stopped outside the door. The moon emerged from behind the pale, wispy clouds. The stars singing their laments.

Once more she inspected it, and in the moonlight something new appeared.

On the deep blue bottom of the box, a glowing script began curling, as if it was being written that exact moment.

She watched in awe. Her name- it was her name. The box was hers.

More writing- secrets, clues, maps, symbols, all appearing over the box. Paths leading her to more discoveries. To more beauty and joy. To life.

She closed the door of the cottage and began walking- towards somewhere.

Stars taking off overhead, launching towards unknown destinations. White trails in the darkness, gradually dissipating. Little breadcrumbs, scattered across the skies, showing paths for the lost to follow.

Joining up the dots in their half-hearted rambles, idling along ways they think they dictate. But once lost, always lost. Forever will be.

Idling along, seeing the next bright bold fire, calling to them and they follow. Their own choice, or something else's? Where could they go, in that dark sky, except towards those fireflies.

Lighthouses on the shores, I suppose, for when they fall to the waves of Earth. Tossing with the tides, blind and grasping, gasping for breath.

A drawn deep, taut inhale, dragging in the air. Giving life.

Pulling on upwards from the coastline, sand harsh against soft, wet skin. But that light, it calls them on the hillside, blinding them suddenly and then disappearing. Hiding away. But those fallen, they follow, they see the direction it pulls them in. And they start climbing.

So much further could they fall. One step by one pull and moving. Caught in another current that tugs.

Light again, blinding. Have you been climbing the wrong way? How do you get down from here? Which way now? Is it really that way- what if you're wrong once more?

But you have no choice, in the dark. Just follow the nearest light.

The darkness all around you, it is different to the skies, the heavens. Less comfortable.

You begin to forget what heaven felt like.

You begin to see the world around you, no longer stumbling blindly along. Trees whistling in the wind, long grass pulling, feet prickled by the undergrowth. Branches snapping, tearing your skin. A world caught in movement. Never-stopping.

Does it know where it's going? Into the darkness.

Keep moving and you'll get somewhere. 

Maybe you will lose the light, and it will lose you. 

Maybe you'll fall upon it. 

Maybe.

It was a heinously grey and dismal day.

Gem concluded that nature must have been feeling particularly charitable to indulge her with such pathetic fallacy.

Closing the gate in her wake, she sidestepped the waterlogged drain. Its gurgling chased her around the corner, a gasping, grasping sort of sound.

She knew she was going to be early, but she’d rather be doing anything else than standing around, staying put. She felt as if someone had poked her with an electric prod and the discharge was still rattling around her bones, the currents trapped to ricochet back and forth. Gem wanted to kick something, or punch something or just break something into a million pieces and roll naked over the sharp shards.

Her umbrella popped upwards and got caught in the gust running down the street. With cold hands she grabbed at the handle, teeth gritting and grinding.

Between her struggles with umbrella-kind and mind-kind she didn’t see the other sidewalk occupant, barely avoiding a collision.

“Oh!” Said the dark figure, silhouetted against the dawn-day sky.

“Sorry” Gem replied and quickly made her escape, eyes trained to the ground, feet pattering in tempo with the rain.

“Gem!” The disembodied voice called. Gem turned and lifted her umbrella up.

The day could not get worse, but it had, and it would, and Gem would be dreadfully surprised by the capacity to which it could.

“Hi, Belle,” Gem said, attempting a smile. Attempting. Failing. Settling for a tight-lipped grimace.

The girl rushed up to her in a flurry of overcoats, scarves, gloves and rainbow-patterned socks.

“God, it’s so cold I care barely feel my fucking fingers,” Belle said. As if to demonstrate, she held out her woollen-clad hands, clenching them with a certain degree of animosity.

“Yes,” Gem replied warily, “Fuck”.

“Right?” The other girl nodded. Belle looked down towards one end of the road, and then squinted at the other. “Are you heading to Swain’s?”

She wasn’t going to the regular haunt, but given that was in the entirely opposite direction Belle had been walking, Gem nodded quickly. “Yes, I have to, ah, go- I’ll see you at class?” But she was walking before she got a response.

“Oh, sorry, isn’t it closed today?”

Feet stumbling over one another in her haste, Gem fumbled and bumbled to a pained stop.

She laughed languorously. “No, really?”

“Yeah,” Belle called across the street, “It’s Sunday.”

“I guess, um, yeah,” Gem shrugged, “Well, I’ve got a few errands to run, so-”

“Can I come with you?”

The question is so honest and sad that she has to stop herself cringing. She’s a bad person, isn’t she? When did she become such a bad person? What series of events preceded the utter dissolution of her character?

She knew the answer but it tasted too bitter in her mouth, so she countered the acidity with something sweeter.

“Yeah,” Gem called out to Belle, “If you want.”

With Belle at her side Gem walked down the dawn-drenched village road, towards the worst day of her life.

It wasn’t as if Gem disliked Belle. The other girl was a curiosity to all in their small college history class - a little bit odd, a bit too enthusiastic. Gem had never met such an enthusiastic person. One could pin that down to the fact that, as a rule, she generally went out of her way to avoid them. But Belle was different. Belle exhibited an enthusiasm for life that should be illegal. No one should be so happy. It was the kind of happy that made everyone else sadder to be around.

As they shuffled through town, Belle exclaiming at every single remotely remarkable thing that crossed her peripheral view, Gem steeled herself for what was to come later.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to tell him. Or what to tell him. He was waiting for a response and she didn’t have one and he was going to hate her and then -

“So-o-o,” Belle said, prodding Gem in the side (to which she had to restrain herself from hissing at the other girl like a feral cat drowned by a bucket of ice cold water), “Have you done the essay?”

“Which essay?” Gem said softly, trying to breathe, trying to not fall to her haunches right then and there, tear her hair out and shriek like a banshee.

When Belle didn't reply, Gem stole a glance at the girl. She found a pair of concerned eyes looking back. It hurt her heart, that compassion. Damned Belle.

"Are you okay, Gem?"

A breathless laugh in response. Gem bit her lip and managed to get out a clipped, "Yep."

Belle nodded, for longer than was necessary, giving the annoying impression that she was brooding over the nature of such a tense reply.

Gem prayed to whatever Gods were listening, or whatever divine force that exisited and determined providence or to just what ever thing that had some sort of ears that could listen to her pleas to take her, then and there, she was done - where was the resignation form? She was ready.

Belle came to a stop.

Gem kept walking.

"Gem," Came the call, "Have you seen this shop before?"

She took a couple more steps before cessation. Then turned, summoned the last strands of her willpower and asked, "What?"

Belle looked up at the old franchise. She was right though. Despite the crumbling, cruddy exterior, Gem hadn't seen the sign before.

Madame Clarissa's Wares and Wonders

The sign creaked in the breeze, an image of an eye above the curling cursive script. Gauzy cloths shimmered in the window and a faint tinkle of chimes signalled the opening of the door.

A young woman stepped out, nursing a cigar from the buffeting winds. Standing at the top steps, she looked down at the two girls. She dragged a puff, blew out smoke and asked, "You girls want a reading?"

Belle looked at Gem, face animated. Gem looked at Belle, with only a thin veneer of disinterest hiding her dismay.