Forest of Mischief

Early morning rays of sun peek through Freya’s open window, the ivory curtains stirring from the cool breeze of dawn. Her eyes blink open, already wishing she could stay in bed just a little longer. She used to love watching the morning sun shift from a ruby haze to the golden light. But now, the bright sun serves as a reminder of her duties for the day.

She sinks back into her airy sheets, dragging them over her eyes to block the growing rays. Freya’s particularly chunky cat, Flora, hops onto her bed and nestles into the crook of Freya’s elbow. After a few moments, Flora starts pawing at the sheet covering Freya’s face.

Freya gets the hint: it’s time to wake up.

Quickly, Freya pulls back the sheets and makes a silly face at Flora. She rolls out of bed and picks up the black and white speckled cat – who is now purring at her – in one swift motion. She gives her a few strokes as she flits around her apartment watering the various plants that engulf her small living space. Feeling Flora’s restlessness in her arms, Freya starts to set her down and Flora leaps out of her hands, landing gracefully on the floor. Her tail flickers as Freya watches her go outside by way of the open window. What Flora spends all day doing, she doesn’t know. Just that she always arrives back by the time Freya gets home.

Pulling on her green shirt and brown slacks, Freya pins her dark curls behind her head. She gives one last look to her small apartment: the one window that she leaves cracked for Flora, her small bed, and the even smaller kitchen with one wooden table and chair for eating. Not that she needs much anyways, she is the only one eating there – besides Flora. The place is a little cramped, but that is the sacrifice of living in the city. And, it’s more to her name than she’s ever had.

Freya grabs her bag, locks the door behind her, and steps into rhythm with the other working city dwellers. She walks along the cobblestone streets, admiring the small shops nestled in between the towering buildings. The ancient and new blending into each other, and Freya loves it. She hurries along the pathway to her first stop of the day. To the only job that would take her while she completes her studies.

As she’s about to cross an intersection, Freya feels a distinct tap on her right shoulder. Instinctively, she whips her head to see who it is – to see if it's someone she knows. She’s met with a mostly empty street, people milling about not paying her any attention. She continues to glance around, until an unfamiliar red-haired man briskly walks by her and brushes past her, bumping her shoulder in the process. A mild annoyance courses through her.

But nothing compared to the annoyance she feels as she walks up to the city’s most popular breakfast spot. The spot which she is expected to open by herself because her boss decided not to show up on time. Again.

Freya walks past the crowd of increasingly frustrated customers, each of them shooting her a frustrated look. She smiles at each of them as she walks to unlock the door. The tips they give are worth the fake smiling Freya has found.

Since her first day, the only staff members have been her and her boss. Everyone else quit under him, and Freya quickly realized why. The man couldn’t be punctual even if his life depended on it. But, Freya learned to accept it. Sometimes relishing in the extra influx of wages; she’d spend her extra money on new treats for Flora or more history books for her studies.

Growing up, she attended the local school that only had the most basic education. But, one of the teachers noticed her love of reading. And Freya's deep understanding of a story and quick memorization skills, convinced the teacher to give Freya access to her personal library. It wasn’t much, but it was more books than Freya ever saw. Most of them were about the tales and lore of the land, while others focused on botany and local herbal medicines. All topics which Freya memorized to the best of her ability – just in case she ever needed them.

She hadn’t. Yet.

Freya gets through the early morning rush by herself, and then waits, appreciating the slight lull of customers, for her boss to arrive. This is the latest he’d been in yet, and Freya couldn’t wait to lord it over him. But, as another mid-morning rush comes and goes, Freya can’t help but start to worry. Wondering if there was an explanation for his absence this morning.

After another hour, panic starts to slide up her spine. The thought that something is wrong now on repeat. Just as she’s about to close the small shop for the day to check on him, her boss strolls through the narrow door, a bell jingling as he crosses the threshold.

The lazy grin on his face makes Freya seethe with irritation. Angry that she even worried about him in the first place when clearly nothing was wrong. He passes by her, barely looking at her. His relaxed face instantly makes Freya’s question, “Long morning?” end in a bitter edge.

He looks like he just noticed she is standing there, “Oh, hi Freya,” he pauses a moment. “I swear I tried to get here on time, but I had the most peaceful sleep…” he trails off as if part of him is still lingering in whatever dream he had. Freya raises her eyebrows at him. Part of her silently praying he doesn’t launch into a story about it. Something he often enjoys to do.

But, he picks up here he left off, “...and I couldn’t wake up until a half hour ago. Then, of course, I had to get ready and…” That is when Freya starts to tune out. When he goes into a detailed explanation of his morning. “...and now here I am,” he finishes. Not even waiting for so much as a reply from Freya before he strides to the back office. It’s not like he’s much help even when he is around.

Freya calls after him, “You’re letting me leave early today!” The only response she gets is a slight chuckle from the back room before the door shuts. Waiting for the lunch rush to start, Freya opens the book she brought in her bag, hoping she’d have time to catch up on her reading before her classes that start in the late afternoon and run well past midnight. She usually gets home just in time to shovel in some dinner and then fall asleep, waiting to do the same the next day.

As she sits at one of the tables, lost in the pages of ancient lore, she hears the jingle announcing a customer. She tears her eyes from the page, and sees a young man with warm red hair staring at her. He stands for a moment in the doorway before walking toward her. Freya quickly shuts her book and stands up, straightening the small apron over her slacks with her hands. A flash of the rude man bumping into her floods her mind as she recognizes him. The earlier rush of annoyance coursing through her again.

“Can I help you?” The words coming out a tad curter than Freya means.

The strange man, dressed in a black tunic and emerald slacks that match the same hue of his eyes. A smirk spreads across his face, “Oh, I’m not getting anything.” His eyes survey the small shop before his eyes return to Freya. He gives her a quick lookover, making her cheeks burn. From the mischievous glint in his eyes or her growing impatience – she doesn’t know.

“Then why are you here?” Freya responds, her eyebrows arching as she waits for an answer.

His smile grows wider with an almost sinister gleam, “I was just wondering if you could tell me your name.” His eyes settle on hers as he emphasizes the last word, his grin still intact.

Strange. This man is strange, there’s something not quite...right about him. Freya isn’t sure what or how to explain it, but all she knows is she doesn’t want to give him her name. “I don’t tell my name to just anyone,” Freya says. A warning low in her voice, a dismissal of the conversation.

His smile relaxes into a thin line as his eyes study her, just as she thinks he’s about to ask her another question, he says, “Fair enough,” and turns his back to her, sauntering toward the door. Just as he’s about to step out the door, he cuts her a glance, his emerald eyes sparkling, “See you around...Freya.” He cocks his head at her, the wide grin returning. With the jingle and click of the door, he’s gone.

A hot flash runs through her as he says her name. She quickly walks to the door he just slinked out of her, prepared to ask him exactly how he knows her name. And why, if he does, he asked her about it in the first place. But, as she steps into the bright midday sun, his red hair is nowhere to be seen. After a few scans up and down the street, Freya reluctantly returns inside.

She sits down at the table where she left her book. Even though she knew the words on the page would be secondary in her mind to thinking over the conversation she just had. Her boss walks out of the office, surveying the empty cafe.

“Well, it looks like we’re not going to have many more customers,” Freya says, giving her boss a pointed look.

He gives her a soft smile as he nods his head, “I guess I can handle closing up.”

She unwraps her apron, places her book inside her bag, and takes the tips from her boss’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Freya says as the door shuts behind her. The sun bright on her face, she heads to her favorite part of the city: the gardens. The one place in town untouched by new buildings and technology. The one place where nature takes precedence over civility.

As she walks through the grassy pathway between the hedges and flowerbeds, she walks by clusters of people taking advantage of the beautiful day. She continues walking, her feet carrying her to the exact spot she’s looking for, the one she claims as her own.

Reaching her quiet sanctuary hidden amongst sprawling oaks, Freya flattens out on her stomach and digs her elbows into the warm earth. The slightly overgrown grass broken up by a small ring of white mushrooms with brown underbellies sprouting near her. She studies them a moment before pulling out her book and flipping to the folded page where she left off.

As she tries to read, her mind continues to be clouded by thoughts of the unnerving man. How he already knew who she was, and why he asked in the first place. The more she tries to focus on the words in front of her, the more her mind wanders to him. Giving up on reading, she flips to her back and stares at the wispy sky filtering through the tree branches above her. A bird lands on the oak’s branch above her, and for a moment, Freya could swear the bird is staring right at her.

As she focuses on the light dancing off the leaves, she notices a soft mist spread around her. Freya’s eyes begin to droop, growing heavier with unexplained sleepiness. As they shut, Freya is whisked into a vivid dream where she stares at herself in an extravagant mirror with a foreign language etched around it. Her dark waves cascading over an ornate silver gown. Something about the image makes her eyes bolt open almost as quickly as they shut. The reflection of her still lingering in her mind.

Her eyes adjust as she looks around the once sunny garden now covered in inky darkness.