Loddy Raver's Story

Without a grand outdoor garden to occupy his time winter was always the season for private study, when Artistotle could be found in the library during the evenings, often scribbling notes and equations and theories in magic into the early morning. Today was a return to observing star charts and the patterns in which planets spun in space, his ink pen plotting predictions for Venus and Castor, and his pencil sketching equations to predict the lives of stars. The tattoos on his back helped with that, the foretold ends of each star a permanent fixture to his shoulder blades and vertebrae. Periodically he would run his hands through his thick, unruly locks of albino hair. Each thread was completely drained of all pigment, and they settled together in neigh translucent wisps, to the extent that they would gain a pink tint during sunsets and sunrises.

His fingers were streaked with ink by the time he felt the urge to leave the library. Usually he made his presence scarce during the nights, leaving it to Cosmo to take care of the residents with fantastic stories and the other tricks he kept up his sleeves, but tonight he wandered towards the grand foyer, navigating the manor with seamless ease. To many the manor was an eternal maze of perplexing passages and dead-ends, but for him it was like taking a stroll in an open field – he knew every part of this house like it was a part of him, and it took only a few minutes for him to walk into the main room, taking in the night’s shenanigans with one curiously raised brow.

Cosmo vanished (and he silently wondered if he was trying to show off to the unfamiliar face in the foyer) only seconds after he stepped through the threshold, and figuring that the situation was being managed he kept his distance. It was stressful enough for children to find a magic house in the middle of the woods, and he could only image how overwhelming it was to be surrounded by unfamiliar and extremely unique people.

However, Ari had lived here his whole life and made a point to know every resident, so when he sees a new face he can’t help but reach out, lest they become lost in the eccentricity of the manor. So was the case when he noticed a tiny, red haired girl leaving the room – her expression seeming focused, as if she had something important to do, but seeing as how he didn’t know her name he couldn’t believe that she could get through the manor without becoming lost. “Excuse me – ” He calls out to her carefully and turns to walk beside her, and he’s like a giant in comparison to her petite stature, his legs and arms long and sturdy. From the corner of his eye he watches as a butterfly begins to fade into existence on his inner arm, right beside the phases of the moon.

He had a tattoo for everyone that lived in the manor, their futures lying against his skin, waiting to be seen. He doesn’t bother hiding them, and the sleeves of his sweater and button down are rolled to his elbows, revealing the illustrated future without shame.

“If you’re not careful you’ll become lost.” Aristotle explains, gazing down to the stranger, his expression wavering between concern and amusement (though it really wasn’t the time to be funny). “And I can tell you’re new around here – I don’t even know your name. So, to save you from getting a headache, let me help you out.” It’s less of an offer and more of a fact, and he continues to walk with easy strides, only to stop where the hallways splits into threes, with only one of the corridors leading to the bedrooms. “I’m Aristotle, though most people call me Ari. Are you going to your room?”