One could have been surprised that it had been a year since her first moonlit dance, and since then she had been to twelve others, each more captivating than the last, amplified always by Amalica's inescapable charm. Amplified even more when she sometimes graced the music itself with her enchanting voice, akin to if Gods themselves were singing to mere mortals through her, each note hit with a delicate sharp tone that Arachne had yet to truly understand, the harmony almost perfect whenever she sang anything. It had been something widely recognized by the cell as well, her praise going beyond the bounds of simply the occasional Argent Maid or Servant, but she had been recognized by Mother Maccis many a time before, and had even been renowned throughout other Dawn Guard cells as well. Her voice was just as angelic as she was, faultless in every form.
And throughout that year, she had been further evaluating her feelings about her dear friend, Ristil helping her better understand what love truly felt like; and how one would go about talking with someone about such things. It was such a strange concept, and in learning, she taught her untouched friend of the horrors of the true Underdark with an indirect push due to her obliviousness over the subject, the inquiries which he made indicating as such. For such reasons, Arachne envied her friend, for he lived a life free to true suffering, for he lacked the need to be watchful at a young age in fear of your siblings, political rivals, and such on ending your life before it reached its peak in fear of it being far too important in the long run.
He had taught her that the feeling of love came from a mortal reflex when the body finds someone arousing or interesting, first forming as attraction before blossoming into what she had developed for Amalica, the truest form of love, which, when reciprocated, would be one of the best parts of anyone's life should their respective partner and then get along well enough to eventually wed and start a life together under the matrimonial vows, blessed by Mother Maccis. Arachne had recognized the unlikeliness of such a thing occurring with her and Amalica's relationship, for she could only assume her friend had no reciprocated feelings with the way she treated her in comparison to how she treated the others that she considered friends, the only subtle difference being that she was still teaching her the ways of the community, and therefore the two of them were attached to the hip. Otherwise, Arachne saw no difference, which brought her to the cruel reality that was love.
For what if it was not reciprocated and you brought your feelings to light? Would your friendship go on as it had before, or would it suffer and cease to exist because the friend could no longer feel comfortable around you? Or, perhaps even more frightening, maybe they would glare at you from across the streets with their dark eyes, muttering small things about you to lessen your chance with anyone else? The latter was unlikely, for they followed a religion of forgiveness, but even still, one was warranted to worry, especially one such as Arachne who had dealt with some of the worst happenings in her life, and Amalica had too, and she knew not what that would do to their relationship.
Even still, she took silent revelry during the days they spent together, just the two of them, for she could gaze into her beautiful scarlet eyes without wondering if she was generating some form of creepy air about her. She could complement Amalica on the way she had done her hair for that day, as she enjoyed doing it up in different styles to keep herself, and everyone else, on their toes, and she had even begun to routinely traverse to Arachne's own abode to braid her hair in a singular and thick french braid, the feeling of her deft fingers against her thin, but otherwise voluminous, hair was fleeting, for she worked fast and had been done with her for quite a time.
Some of the women of the cell had remarked that Amalica's erratic hair and outfit choices was something of a relieving sight amongst those of the more traditional standpoint, as they showcased what drow youth was meant to be instead of what it had become, especially since more and more members were coming from the Underdark cities instead of the wombs of existing members, and as such it was a hot topic within those circles, specifically those of mothers. Arachne had only heard of such issues from Risitil's parents, who welcomed her with open arms, just as they had Amalica before her, for they enjoyed educating her on the nuances of their society in comparison to those of the surface world, as they had visited it several times to collect resources that could not be found in the caverns around them, having to use veils, hoods, and cloaks to shield themselves from the almost burning sensation that the sun would incur upon any underground-dweller not accustomed to the sensation.
It was quite the oddity in Arachne's own mind, but in its whole it made enough sense for her to not question it, as the dark place of which they lived in had manipulated what they had become used to over their years, and as such, the things the surfacers would become used to with the aid of the sun, sky, stars and moon, would render them just as hopeless as the underground races would in their domain, although very few did venture into the depths of the earth, and even then, most were driven to madness. Perhaps that was the effect of the Underdark to them, and their own effect being the pain of the sun to her own kind.
Despite this, the moon was quite nice, even the stars around it, the dots within the air, contained their own stories, and she found herself enraptured with their stories, listening to the Moon Singers spin the tales of each star in the sky, as there were millions, perhaps even more, as they were scattered about the entire world, their stories endless, for each God had one emblazoned in the sky, and there hundreds of them, and their champions also claimed their spot in the stars, and in some cultures, their own folk heroes having their positions within the sky. And it was for these stories that she thrived in, finding herself within a world unlike her own, amazed by the magic of a good story.
So, as such, Amalica had been giving her lessons on how to play the lyre, for it was true that the instructors given to her were somehow insufficient in how her mind felt required to learn, for even Mother Maccis had tried her hand, to no avail. Part of her thought that she was beyond help, and that music was not what she would truly thrive in, and another field of study would be more profitable for her, but she wished to try once more, and thus far, the woman that had stolen her heart had taught her well, each new chord she learned taking her into a land of focus unrivaled by anything else that she had ever found joy in doing, save for reading, which she had taken up more seriously in her time alone, studying ancient scripture in the temple, the Argent Maids and Servants expecting her at the hour, and were more than surprised when she appeared even five minutes later than her normal time, which was quite humorous in its own right.
However, with her time spent in the temple itself, she also heard the rumors within the clergy's own walls, one such rumor, one of the more perplexing ones to her, the others being simple things such as the fact that Larynda had shared a bed, quite passionately, with Miz'ri's husband, and Arachne cared little to listen, for they did not concern her, and most were solved, as it was soon revealed that it had been just a rumor, and that the two of them had to share a bed to take care of Miz'ri's son, Phararun, while she was out gathering herbs. But what had piqued her interest on this certain matter was the mention of Amalica's name, a sweet thing on the lips of others, for many admired her, but no one adored her as much as she did, but even still, her name was never dirtied by the discussion of minor squabbles.
She had recalled it had started with an Argent Servant, Quave, a mischievous man in his own right despite his age, for he was almost as old Mother Maccis, if not older, but even still the sheen in his eyes was unmistakable when I came to foolish things, such things being quite refreshing, but either way he had turned to the young librarian, Veldrin, muttering in his most conspicuous voice, still loud enough for Arachne to hear when she strained her ears, and she had done so, looking up from her book, her face hidden by a bookshelf after she heard Amalica's name spoken.
"Did you hear that Amalica's been making some kind of gift for someone?" Quave had remarked, a gruff rasp in his voice as he did so, Veldrin jumping in surprise when his attention was taken from his book, for he was quite the jumpy man, for he had gone through the rape and abuse of the priestesses as a final trial in Gloufmarth, running away shortly after. "She's apparently doing it for some, 'special someone.' Any clue who that might be, lad?"
Arachne had gotten up quietly, peeking through a gap in the spines of books on the shelves to watch as Veldrin shook his head meekly, "N-no, sorry Quave. She's seemed to be in lighter spirits last year, though, if that's possible." He looked down, putting his quill back into the ink bottle, understanding that the length of the conversation would most likely dry the ink on the quill at the time, "M-maybe you should ask Arachne or Ristil, since they're the closest to her out of anyone. P-probably Arachne, though. She's made quite the impression on all of us this past year, so t-there's no doubt she'd know something."
Quave had all but huffed in defeat, hs attempt to gossip squandered by the unaware disposition of the librarian, leaving without another mention of the topic, for he had not confronted her or Ristil since he had inquired about the subject, and that had been a tenday ago, and over the course of that time, it had been something weighing down Arachne's mind, wondering who this person could be, if anyone, for the aging drow elf wasn't always the most reliable person when it came to information, as he did so enjoy stirring up mischief.
So, she did still wonder about such things as she made her way to Amalica's home where she would continue her lessons on the lyre, the precious piece of wood tucked away in a fabric bag hanging from her shoulder, akin to a purse, greeting her neighbors as she walked. For she had made quite the amount of friends and friendly acquaintances over the course of that year, and had, in turn, many people to greet as she walked about during her daily tasks.
And today was like no other, for the same people were on the streets, if they could even be called such a thing, as a majority of the cell, domiciles included, was centered around the well that they used to draw their water, for it was connected to a place further underground then they were already, which was not at all surprising, for they were rather close to the surface itself, close enough for it to be only a hour long journey from the nearest entrance to the surface, and that was with the entire congregation of drow, some carrying heavy tools and wood for the bonfires, instruments, and the like. Arachne did not envy the women who had to carry the harp around on its designated wooden wagon.
Amalica lived in a home only two homes down from her own, but Arachne enjoyed prolonging her short walk by engaging in small talk with the working peoples of the civilization, for it had been the most social she had ever been, for she had been free to express herself in the best ways she could, her smile true and bright, as was her laugh, instead of being weighed down political pressure, as well as genuine fear for one's life. And as such, she had acquired quite the reputation as someone who was truly benefitting from the kind embrace of the society around her, for they all remembered what she had been like at the beginning of her journey, reserved, paranoid, and fearful. But now she was quite the talkative woman, less paranoid, despite the fact that the effects of her life were still to be undone, and she expected it to take quite a long time for them to be mostly gone; the ghost of them still remaining despite her attempts to be free of them.
So, as she knocked on Amalica's door, her voice already warmed up from speaking with one of Triel's boys, Valas, she took a deep breath, preparing her heart for its inevitable clench when she would see the beautiful woman that had so enraptured it, catching it in her soft grasp.
And it did clench, the bittersweet feeling it brought to her, even as she heard the joyful chirp of her voice, "Well, come on in, Arachne!" She bade, letting her in before closing the door.