Charis Myron's Story

A jar sat before the young woman, plain in appearance but seeping in thick history. It is no larger than Charis' palm, seemingly innocuous in its mundane image. The remnants of a vibrant paint job can be seen littered across the grey jar, faded colours of what once would have been eye-catching purples, blues, and reds decorating the chipped clay. Undecipherable words lining the bottom have worn away with time, possibly their letters indicating who crafted the small container or even who owned it. For most the mysteries of this small jar might never be unlocked. Carbon dating and careful inspection can only offer a limited amount of information. One would never be able to physically see the item in use as it was intended, or see those who used the object. Tracking it's path throughout history would be almost impossible. Unless of course you happened to have Charis' gift.

Activating it took only a fraction of a second, the power concentrated on the small jar as the museum owner lets her fingers slide around the object. Almost instantly her mind is filling with knowledge, memories of the artefact's past colouring her mind with images. She's watching as a craftsman sets the clay, before those colours she had guessed at are painted on, brilliant, vibrant flowers painted around the object's surface. Fast-forward and the item resides in a wealthy Greek home, filled with powder. Charis spies the jar's own, carefully applying the make-up to her face. From there Charis traces the object's journey over the centuries, as it first passes through the hands of the original owner's children, then lays abandoned in an old home for centuries more. She gains a complete illustration of its life before it wound up here, on her desk. These flashes of long gone histories are one of the reasons why the Museum offers such a world class collection. Not only are the items they procure unique and beautiful, but the stories they tell offer visitors an in-depth glimpse into the past.

All this gathering of information takes place in less than a minute, the jar's history sorting itself out in her mind quickly and efficiently. It wasn't always this way, when she was younger the knowledge she had gained through her power had arrived muddled and confused, everything out of time. With the help of her father, Charis had honed her ability until it was what it is today, allowing her to read an object's past and slot those memories carefully into her mind. As she removes her hand from the Jar Charis makes sure to inactive her ability, knowing that if she doesn't everything she touches will offer her pictures of its past. One object, two or three at a stretch, is enough for the time being. If she pushes it Charis risks fainting. It's the same with all Orphic powers. They come in bursts, and Charis is no different.

Gripping a pen tightly in her hand the young woman begins to write down the history she has just seen, making her notes accurate and concise. This jar may not end up as the central exhibit, but it deserved just as much care and attention as the big pieces did. It had been loved and looked after in its time, and now it stood in present day as a reminder of the past. So Charis takes her time writing out her description, leaving no detail of importance unsaid. By the time she is done her hand aches from writers' cramp. Stretching out her the muscles in her hand Charis pushes herself to her feet, carefully replacing the jar in its box and placing it on top of the written description before picking up both.

With both in hand Charis leaves her office, gliding down the private corridor as she heads for the museum's archives. Her feet carrying her down a flight of stairs to an expansive room filled with artefacts that haven't made it to the floor above. Broken busts of Ancient Greek scholars and gods sit beside water-logged paintings of mythical creatures. Down in the storeroom everything has its place and though the items may not be on display, Charis adores them just as much as those under the spotlights in the public halls. Charis finds an unoccupied slot in the appropriate section, labels her item and the card used to identify it, before placing the jar inside. With that job done Charis continues on her way, heading upstairs by another stairwell so that she might walk through the exhibits above.

The underbelly of the museum is a maze, twisting corridors and large cavernous storerooms offering a labyrinth of turns and apparent dead ends. Though, for someone who has all but grown up in the museum finding ones way is reasonably simplistic. Charis could find her way blindfolded. Though luckily she isn't forced to and, once she's found her way into the public gallery, her eyes are able to feast on the descendant display before her. A shipwreck, centuries old and yet carefully preserved by countless curators before her stands in the middle a large hall. A broken mast, torn sails, and scorch marks from whatever battle ended its reign of the seas are evident. It is one of the many wonders that the museum holds, and though Charis has seen it endless times before she stops again to marvel at it.

The museum is open today, offering those that might wish to cast their eyes upon items from that historic day of discovery the chance to do so. Most of the visitors streaming through the door are families, parents hoping to pass on the history of Conjoinment Day to their children. Charis, still standing absorbed by the shipwreck, can think of nothing she'd rather being doing that reliving that momentous day. She would quite happily spend all day and night roaming the museum's halls. Though perhaps, given the celebrations that are likely to occur she will leave the comfort of her second home and venture into the streets or the cabaret. That would certainly be entertaining and, as her mother so often reminds her, she can't always live in the past. Sometimes the present deserves just as much attention.