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A Petitioner's Thoughts

As representative of the minstrels and bards and any other such musicians in Remalna, it was my duty to go to petitioner's court, no matter how little I wanted to. I hated dressing up my appearance and my way of doing things just so a roomful of stuffy courtiers could sneer and look down their noses at me, but it was necessary, much to my dismay.

Word had come around back to the guild that our members were being mistreated—swindled, cheated. Naturally these musicians had complained to the guild-master, none other than yours truly, Claire Feldon the minstrel, guild-master for the musicians of Remalna. Generally, I assumed that it was their own stupidity that got them cheated out of their money, but my feeble protests were ignored, and the threat of a riot shed light on the necessity of my impending trip to petitioner's court.

Presently, I frowned and glowered at my reflection in the looking glass, eyeing my reflection dubiously, wishing I had the post of assistant guild-master, a post that I began to think must be cushy indeed. "You really think it looks okay?" I asked my fellow musician, supreme seamstress, and friend, Cara, with trepidation, craning my neck to get any sort of view of my backside to see if it looked presentable.

Cara examined me with the air of a true expert, a real connoisseur, walking a slow circle around me, stopping every few steps to validate that I looked good from every angle. I fidgeted under her intense, evaluating scrutiny, biting my lip nervously, thinking, the way that she circles me is a little too much like a shark. Soon, she stopped, her person coming to rest beside me, her eyes glowing happily. She clapped her hands together in a prayer-like fashion and rested her dainty chin on top of them.

"Oh, Claire," she breathed reverently, "You look marvelous."

I stared at myself in the mirror—two intensely worried blue-green eyes stared back at me, framed by locks of straight, pale blond hair. I pulled a face and turned to Cara, grimacing. "My face is so pale though! I look like I'm half-dead!" I exclaimed.

"Don't be silly, Claire. You look just fine, and besides, pale skin is the fashion." She looked at me and noticed that I looked less than convinced. She rolled her eyes. "If you're really that worried, then here," she said exasperatedly, and then pinched my cheeks a little. "Nice rosy blush. Okay?"

I shrugged my consent, still displeased with my white skin—it looked gaunt and tired to me. The dress I wore was modest, but bold enough in color and design so that the courtier's attention wouldn't wander too much. It's probably a good thing that I'll be noticed, but I don't really want people staring at me. It was a bright turquoise color, like that of the far-off tropical oceans, and like my eyes, making them shine all the brighter. Silver embroidery lined the bottom and the cuffs of the sleeves, and it resembled more of a dress robe of sorts than a dress or gown—a quality that I valued, for I found that it made people pay more serious attention to my words. My slippers were silver colored, but in a soft, unobtrusive way, aesthetically pleasing, winking and peeking out from beneath the hem of my robe in the sunlight. My pale blond hair fell perfectly, sweeping delicately across my small shoulders in perfect contrast to the turquoise silk of my robe, coming down to the small of my back, perfectly straight, but loose and free.

"Well," I said finally, no doubt sounding dejected, "I suppose I ought to be going."

"Alright," Cara said, and smiled bracingly at me as I headed off down the path and onto the street. "Remember to smile!" she called after me.

A/N: Please review, there is more to come. This should be about three-four chapters maximum depending on the general reaction to this chapter. Oh, and by the way, not that this means anything to you people, this is the anonymous reviewer 'music nerd' speaking. Just for the record.