Lysandra Teraviel
The distraught woman finally managed to compose herself in the dressing room, wiping the tears from her eyes and drying her hands on her old, torn clothes. The flask of liquid that she never asked for sat in the corner, oblivious to the myriad of emotions that the elf was feeling now. Despite the new robes, which fit her very comfortably and even did an exceptional job at hiding her arm, those nagging thoughts of doubt and paranoia continued to flit around her brain--had the tailor seen anything before the switch? What if that white-haired man was still waiting for her outside the shop?
A small knock at the door of the changing stall--the elf jumped at the sound and felt her heart begin to beat faster in her chest. "Ma'am, are you doing alright in there?" the tailor's voice called from the other side. "Is everything OK? I thought I heard some crying and I wanted to make sure--"
She opened the door after grabbing the discarded robes with her crystallized arm, the potion in the other hand. Her eyes were forlorn, yes, but for a completely different reason. "Yes, I'm fine..." her voice was soft, almost contemplative. "It's just... I've had these robes for a long time and now they're ruined..."
How easily the lie rolled from her tongue! Before she had begun her travels across Allevent, she never would have felt comfortable stretching the trouth to anyone, no matter how slight; yet now she felt almost a sort of compulsory need to do so in order to hide her arm. Perhaps this had to with her spending time among humans and other races away from the forests... Maybe this was a bad habit that developed out of necessity? Either way, the woman tried to make herself look as natural as possible--if the tailor suspected anything off about this statement at all, he might start thinking about other things: what might she be hiding from him?
The tailor took a quick glance at the robes in her hand before looking back up to the woman's face. "It's a shame, too--those robes looked well-crafted and cared for. It's understandable that you would be sad to see them go. I could always patch that tear up if you like, or I may be able to use it in the future as a display piece--"
The woman's face grew pale. Why would this man want her torn clothing? Did the growths leave any sort of residue or dust in the sleeve after all these years? Would he be able to figure it out just from that? If he did learn about something, would he take back the clothes he just sold her?
"No!" Startled, she took a few quick steps toward the door. She stopped, realizing that this probably would arouse more suspicion than anything else. "I... I mean, no, thank you..." she walked up to the counter and grabbed her change--a few small silver coins--and immediately left the tailor's shop, letting the door slam behind her.
This entire journey was growing more and more frustrating with every single misstep. First the spectacle with the fox and her sleeve, then the people getting close to her and trying to examine what happened to her, and then the whole thing with the white-haired man--it was all too close for her comfort. Luckily, there was no sign of the armored man who had led her to the tailor's shop, and that at least gave her a slight bit of relief--had he been waiting for her to finish her business, she probably would not have known what to do.
In any case, she glanced down the street toward a commotion in front of a tavern. Of course, she would try to stay away from the ruckus as much as possible--the tavern scene never suited her, especially with all of the drunkards that could potentially try to pry their beady little eyes into her clothing. She had learned that humans were very susceptible to the poison that was alcohol, and their inebriated state of mind often caused all sorts of bizarre and unwanted scenarios to play out. Thinking about trying to check out the situation sent a chill down her spine--perhaps it was the wind telling her that she should continue what she had set out to do in the first place.
She began to walk back up the street toward the plaza; away from the tavern and the densely-packed shops of the alleyway, away from the crowds of people that might have recognized her from before. Despite her new robes and her no-longer-torn sleeve, she continued to look suspiciously at any passersby, wondering if they could see through her robe, hoping that they would not recognize her from the commotion she had caused with the fox familiar. Her gaze fell to the flask of liquid in her hand--how would she ever be able to find that girl with the cat-ear cap now that she had run off into the crowds of people? What if she had seen something and brought it up as she tried to give the flask back? The elf shook her head as she attempted to brush away those nagging thoughts--there was a time and a place to worry about that, but this was not it.
The Imperial Archive came into view as the woman in red turned the corner--the stall owner was right after all. The building looked more all the more impressive with the setting sun off in the distance. Judging from the architecture, the woman guessed that this building was hundreds of years old--easily older than even she--but it still appeared well-maintained and cared for. She hoped that there would not be a large crowd browsing through the archives, especially if there was anyone that could have possibly seen her in the marketplace with her arm--especially with a group of potential scholars, she did not want to become the center of attention with such an... interesting condition.
Luckily for her, the halls were rather empty, and most that were there were too buried in their research to even glance up and give her the time of day. This was exactly the sort of environment that she was hoping to find. Browsing the many tomes gave her a sense of familiarity, something she had been longing for for nearly the past decade. After finding a few old leather-bound volumes that seemed to relate to the subject matter she was searching for, she carried them to an isolated table in a bit of a darker corner and began to read.
The elf sat and began to read, oblivious to the others in the archive just as they were to her. This was exactly how she wanted it--no one else meddling in her business, nothing to interrupt her from her research, no one to make any sort of comment or notice anything about her arm.
...so why did she all of a sudden feel like she was being watched?