Purple Windows

Saying goodbye is usually the hardest part about leaving home. But unfortunately for me it was quite the opposite. The road before me was covered in a fresh blanket of snow, the sidewalk leading into town was perfectly smooth until I trampled over it in my furred boots. There were no street lamps filled with everlasting flame to light the pavement as there were in the bustling city I had left. The only sound I could hear was the rumbling of the bus that dropped me off, slowly fading in the distance behind me. I exhaled a deep breath, creating a small fog from my mouth. My stinging hands were tightly packed into the pockets of my fancy but hardly warm auburn coat. I looked like an idiot up here in the mountains, dressed as if I were about to shoot a cover for a fashion magazine.

It was a short walk into town, but a long walk to my home. The town hadn't changed at all in the five years I'd been gone, I found myself caught in reverie more than once. The wooden architecture was still as striking as it had always been. Most of the buildings were made from the wood of ferrobark trees, a material as light as you'd expect of wood, but as strong as iron. Intricate designs had been carved into the wood, leaving the impression that each building was a work of art. It was a stark contrast to the buildings in the capital city, most of which were smooth black monoliths that rose into the sky. There were also many trees inside of the town, and not placed as conservatively as one might think. There were trees in the middle of the sidewalk, and there were trees that grew inside and around buildings. A visitor might find the trees here to be a nuisance, but they were just another quirk of the town that added to it's charm. Really, they weren't annoying at all, honest. I passed by the local police station, a place I've been to many times, mostly unwillingly. Unlike most young people my rebellious streak started when I was about eight years old, and ended by the time I was sixteen. Depending on who you asked anyway.

Having spent enough time feeling nostalgic, I hurried along to get out of the cold. My home was on the edge of town, isolated just enough from the rest that it could be considered private. The walkways were made of stones that had begun to gather moss, and the grass was starting to grow wild. As I walked to the door I noticed that the lights were on inside of the house. I opened the door to be greeted by a blast of warm air, which was more than welcoming. The floors creaked as I made my way into the living room, where someone was sitting on a couch polishing a handgun.
"Arriving at night so you won't run into anyone, huh?" She said, placing the gun down on a wooden table. I didn't say anything right away, which prompted her to speak again. "That's fine, I knew you would. But you know you have to get out there at some point, right, Kanoa?"

I chuckled and crossed my arms. "I haven't seen you in five years and you're already telling me what to do." This more than serious looking individual was my best. No. My only, friend, Laura. We grew up together here in the town of Oakenheim. She was the Sheriff's daughter, so other kids tended to avoid her, and I was, well me, so I didn’t socialize much either. We weren't much alike, but Laura was never phased by how weird other people said I was, and I was never afraid of her father. She was sitting by a lit fireplace, the warm light highlighting the features of her face that hadn't changed much. Her black hair was still cut short and fairly wild, as long as it was out of the way and manageable she was fine. Her gray eyes met mine as she turned, she still had that constant look of determination that I was always secretly envious of. Well, I'd mentioned it once, and she said someone with purple eyes had enough going for her in that department, whatever that was supposed to mean.

"Well someone has to, Gods only know what you'd do otherwise. I was worried about you being in the city for so long. Please tell me the only thing they've ruined is your sense of fashion." She said. I looked down at my dapper coat and frowned.

"The selection of clothing there was surprisingly narrow, don't blame me. What about you? I could only imagine the number of legs you've broken now that you're a big bad detective." I walked over to her and picked up her gun. "Special Agent Laura Rosewater, here to deliver swift justice!" I said, pointing the gun extravagantly. She was a huge fan of action movies and cartoons when she was a kid, and wanted to be a superhero when she grew up. Laura stood up and took the gun from my hands.

"You will never let me live that down, will you? So, what did the letter say?" She said, holstering her weapon. I reached into my coat and pulled out a single sheet of parchment.

"You could have read it before you sent it to me."

"Yes, but that would have been rude... also there was a magic seal on it."

"That's right, classic Grandma." I said, turning the letter over in my hand. It had been sealed in an envelope made of tan leather, and exuded the familiar aroma of my Grandmother's magic. She knew that only I would be able to open it, anyone else would end up destroying it in the process. "It's a pretty short will, besides leaving me this house there's only one other thing of note. At the bottom there is a line written that says it will only show if she was unable to remove it before she died. You know my Grandmother, she never did anything half assed. On top of the seal to prevent anyone from me reading this, she added a line that would only show if she were to die suddenly without warning. Laura, what was my Grandmother doing before she died?" I asked. Laura's face tightened.

"There's been a string of disappearances in town lately, people vanishing that have no connection to each other. A few of them have turned up dead in the woods, their bodies always torn apart as if something attacked them. We ran out of leads a long time ago, so we turned to your Grandmother. She must have been on to something, or maybe whoever is responsible feared the one professional mage in town. I knew she wouldn't just up and die of a heart attack, I'm sorry, Kanoa..." Laura said with a groan.

"It's not your fault. She must have known it'd be dangerous." I said. My Grandmother took me in as a toddler when my parents died. She was always a teacher before a parent, she was more interested in the mysterious eyes I was born with and slapping my wrists whenever I failed to cast a spell. She was hardly involved in my mother's life either. The woman tried her best to make sure people wouldn't miss her, that was one of the few things she couldn't pull off.
"I know, but I still feel as though I could have done something." Laura looked at me with a shine in her eye, a shine that always meant I was about to be pulled into something on her whim.

"You don't have to say it. We're going to figure this out. I didn't spend five years in that city just reading books. Consider me a part of the force, Ms. Rosewater." I said with a grin, holding out my hand.

"Sure thing, Ms. Marigold." She snarked back, shaking my hand. Neither of us particularly liked our last names, and were convinced the other had it better off. I pulled Laura into a hug, and nearly lifted her off the ground.

"I'm glad to be back." I said.

"Me too, things have been dull without you." She said, hugging me back and reminding me that under her business casual clothes was a body that could wrestle a bear if need be.

"You still smell nice."

"And you made it weird." Laura let go of me and walked to the front door. "I'll see you tomorrow, try not to be late to your first job, alright?"


It took me a little longer than usual to get up and ready that day. I hadn't lived in this wooden home for half a decade, the student dorms in the city were downright sterile compared to this musty shack. Various tools and ingredients were everywhere. As always my grandmother had been using the entire building as her personal workshop. I stepped out of the bathroom, nearly tripping over a pair of calipers. I walked into my room, almost breaking my neck tripping over a glass bottle. I vowed to one day do something about the hazards as I got dressed. Maybe tomorrow. I had sent my things to town a week prior via teleportation. I'd have sent myself as well, but the process was rather painful, and expensive. There was also the debate over whether scrambling every atom in your body and rearranging it elsewhere was basically killing people and bringing them back to life.

I looked myself over in a mirror, making sure I didn't look too much like a clueless city girl. An old jacket and a pair of boots from before I left still fit, it was a good thing my grandmother hadn't thrown them away. I gazed down to tug on the jacket, and when I looked back into the mirror, it was different, everything was. The smooth surface of the mirror rippled like water, and the frame bulged as if it were rubber tubing filling with air. I took a deep breath and the taste of air was like biting into flavorless ice shavings. I fell backwards and caused a brush to fall onto the floor, the sound kicking up a dust of the color purple. I scampered to the suitcase on my bed, the wooden floor sounding like the clanking of metal as my hands and knees crawled across it. I pulled the sheet off the bed, causing the open suitcase to slide to the edge of the bed. The sheets felt like living tissue and were disturbingly warm. I reached into the case and pulled out an auto-injector. I pressed it to the side of my neck and sent a cocktail of downers into my bloodstream. My head was as light as a feather for a moment, my vision glazed over as everything went back to normal. I blinked a few times, and took another breath to make sure the episode had passed.

This wasn't an isolated incident, as one could easily surmise. For as long as I could remember my perception has been different from everyone else's. My senses intermingle in odd ways, sounds can have their own color, letters and numbers appear as shapes with connections that I can't explain. Synesthesia, is what one might call it, but my case isn't as simple as that. The things I see aren't consistent as they should be, sounds sometimes shift into different colors, for example. And then there are these episodes of mine. The first time it happened was when I was eight years old. I don't remember everything, but apparently I broke my hands trying to punch the walls of my room because they were screaming at me, then I passed out. Since then I've never been in that messed up state for too long, I'd go mad if I did. The strangest thing about these episodes isn't just what I see and hear, but the fact that they seem more real than what is normal. I'm seeing glimpses into a world I have no right to see, the longer I look the more enlightened I feel. But this enlightenment isn't wisdom, it's insanity.