You'd think that poor, homeless Orphan Children living in West would be dirty and dangerous, right? Well, actually, it's the complete opposite! I looked around the room in awe, speechless. The whole story was painted a gray-blue, with white squares drawn on the floor. There were 9 Orphan Children, and each had their own square and their own hobby. I saw an indoor garden, paintings, sculptures, instruments, and one square had a whole scenery painted on the wall, spilling onto the floor. It was more beautiful than The House of Time, with its golden pillars and marble walls. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. Even the children inside were beautiful, with smiles, handmade clothes, and, in some cases, painted faces. It was like these children weren't Orphan Children. Like they believed they could be more than that.
Posme walked to the front of the room, saying "This is our humble home," to me. I followed him, but had to duck when a parakeet flew over my head! He turned and I almost ran into him again.
"Everyone, this is Solona," he said, addressing the rest of the Orphan Children. "She's going to be living here." I gave a small wave as all the Orphan Children said hello.
"Alright!" Posme shouted, startling me. "Let's do the end-of-the-night roll call."
"Don't you have somewhere to go?" I asked him, remembering that he was leaving when I got here. He mumbled something incoherent, and I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to say something. He cleared his throat before saying, "It doesn't matter." I opened my mouth to say something more, but he interrupted me.
"Loos?" He asked, a little too loudly. He picked up an itty-bitty pencil and a tiny piece of paper. I was about to ask him if he had been to school, but then I noticed there weren't words on the paper, but pictures. I looked back over at his square and saw haphazard stacks of paper, pencil shavings, sketchbooks, and stubs of pencils littering the floor. Sketches hung on the walls.
Hmm, I thought. He's pretty talented. I walked over, listening vaguely to Posme yell names, opening one of his sketchbooks.
It was filled with drawings of The Old Ones. Curious, I flipped through the sketchbook. He had drawn a portrait of each Old One and had captured different activities they did; having dinners with the Awardeds, signing official documents, conversing with each other, and instructing servants. I noticed a lot of drawings of The Oldest and, oddly, a lot of drawings of me. I was cleaning in most of them. I turned to ask him what the book was for and knocked straight into him again. I dropped the sketchbook, which he quickly bent to pick up. He was laughing, but he's eyes were focused on the sketchbook.
"I guess it's time to add you to the roll call, huh?" Posme asked me. I laughed and nodded ad he drew a little picture on his paper. "The Crushed Rose, right?" I nodded, then looked over at his paper. He had drawn a picture representing each name, like a rose.
"Those are pretty good," I said.
"Thanks," he replied.
"Oh, what is that sketchbook for?" I asked him. He gulped, and I eyed him, suddenly suspicious. What was the sketchbook for?
"It's nothing; just some drawings," he said. I grunted, thinking. He turned away, talking to one of the other Orphan Children.
Why was he hiding the real purpose of the sketchbook for? Why was he so interested in The Old Ones? What-
"I heard Posme say your name means The Crushed Rose?" The girl next to me asked, interrupting my thoughts. I turned to her and said "Yeah." She had painted her brown cheeks in rainbow swirls and was wearing a bright yellow jumper. Her hair was braided, and it had flowers tucked into it. "I'm actually carving a rose now," she said, and I looked around her square to see a few carvings, but my favorite was a life-sized sloth.
"Those are really good," I said.
"Thanks," she said brightly. "I'm Mesly," she said, sticking out her hand. I took it, smiling. "It means 'Sloth' in The Language of Old," she said, rolling her eyes a little and laughing. I laughed a little too and said, "That explains the sloth statue." She laughed again, looking over at it.
"You know," she said, looking at me again, "you can have this carving." I gaped at her for a second when she handed me the now-finished rose carving.
"Thank you," was all I could manage to say. I turned away quickly, wiping my eyes. No one had ever given me something before. At least not to be nice. But there was no way I was crying.
I looked over at Posme, who was smiling at me.
But in his hand, he clutched the sketchbook filled with The Old Ones.
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