Outside the Council of the Elders abide, I turn over the tiny little object in my hands: a miniscule white dove carved out of birch wood. Thoughtfully, I slip it into my pocket next to the pendant, tucking my white blouse further into my trousers. I straighten the sword at my hip, running the tip of my thumb over the sheath fondly.
The sky is still dark, so much that the Councillor's point of residence- a grand manor several stories high made from a mish-mash of various stones and peppered with a mess of ivy and purple wisteria, is already lit up with a spectral light. Tiny little fireflies dance in the glass globes hanging outside the oak double door, and I fix my eyes on the lion-headed knocker. Swallowing my fear, I reach out. Before I could even knock once a dainty little angel, perhaps a maid for the elders, swings open the door.
