Fear Is A Type Of Magic. It Enchants Your Soul. (Private)

Soledad was sitting at her cabin table in the mess hall. A large sheet of paper, tinged yellow in the late afternoon sun, sat in front of her covering almost half the table's surface. Brow furrowed, the daughter of Phobos had a pencil in her hand and was fine-lining the details of her masterpiece.

Vaguely, she sensed that not far from her, there was someone sitting on a table, but as artists usually go, Soledad was entirely absorbed in her piece. Then again, the girl had the ability to ignore Aphrodite drama and a drakon attack, so a stationary camper sitting in an odd position probably wouldn't bother her as much. In fact, Soledad would have stayed indoors if not for the fact that she had already been sitting there since lunch. Besides, in the mess hall, she was closer to the ever-lit braziers.

Returning her attention to her work, Soledad shifted so that her shadow fell lightly over the paper in order to reduce the odd lighting. Spread over the entire area and drawn in visionary, immaculate detail, were dozens of buildings, towers, and skyscrapers. It was the entire city and skyline of Tokyo. They ranged from offices to malls, all intricately silvered in graphite. Amongst the innumerable structures, standing taller than any other building, was the Tokyo Tower, shaped rather recognisably after a certain landmark of France.

In fact, at a first glance to the unfamiliar eye, the whole sketch might likely have been mistaken for Paris. Further scrutinisation would reveal an interesting fact. The city was strangely empty. It portrayed none of the life that bustled through great major cities, nor any sort of life at all. Yet the skyline itself seemed to tower out of the flat page and into the supreme dimension of reality. That was how realistic it appeared.

With each section Soledad moved to, she shifted a smaller, unmarked piece of paper under her drawing hand to prevent unnecessary smudges.

Almost done with the sketch, Soledad cast a trained eye over her drawing with a last flourish, as if looking for areas she missed out—though she already knew there was none. The whole city was ingrained in her mind, down to the very last tile. Suddenly, Soledad noticed that there was something off about the paper. What—oh. It occurred to her that someone's shadow was covering a quarter of the buildings. She was unable to see the lines clearly.

"Would you move?" Soledad said absently, her tone mellow and utterly placid, like she was politely refusing an offered biscuit.

Soledad didn't really care what the camper said, so long she got that shadow off the paper. There. The daughter of Phobos thickened a last line, and put down the pencil on the bench. Tilting the paper so that accumulated eraser dust rolled off, Soledad scanned the piece. She closed her eyes and envisioned the whole drawing in her head, then opened them again. Satisfied, she stood up, picking up her stationery and pushing them into her jeans pocket. The pencil stuck out defiantly.

Soledad then picked up the paper, carrying it toward the nearest brazier, where a fire flickered merrily. Dropping the whole drawing in the flames, she watched as the heat first darkened the centre of the paper, forming a charred hole. Luminous orange alowly ate at the edges of the hole, which curled itself into dark grey ash. Smoke rose from the brazier as particles of soot swirled in the air.

Soledad turned away from the heat of the brazier to face her addresser. She had never spoken to the camper before, but Soledad recognised her from cabin twenty.

In fact, a name Soledad had seen written in the camper list came to mind. Upahara Bagya Yatra. Unusual name in America, but not for one of the girl's race. Therefore, Soledad guessed this was probably her. After all, there weren't too many Indian campers around campus.

Soledad studied the girl in response to her question. The girl seemed annoyed, angry even—she seemed like the quick-tempered, full of attitude type, Soledad noticed.

After contemplating for a few seconds, the daughter of Phobos finally said, "Are you asking because you really want to know, or because you want to start something?"

The girl closed her eyes as if pushing down her anger and then put on a rather forced smile. Not fooled, Soledad did not react.

At the camper's response, the daughter of Phobos raised her eyebrows lightly. "That's nice of you. I'd like to learn about Asian culture too. Do you typically insult someone before offering to shake their hand?"

She was simply teasing, of course, but her tone sounded so matter-of-fact that most people would've been mislead or confused. Soledad looked at Ari lazily for another moment, before lifting her lips in a slight but genuine smile.

"I'm Soledad," she shook Ari's hand carefully, before withdrawing her own—Soledad didn't want to spark the girl's anger. She seemed like a fuse that could go off any moment. "Daughter of Phobos."

Soledad could hear the gentle crackle of the fire as it finished devouring the paper. She nodded in response to Ari's apology. "It's fine, everyone's a little irate right now."

Soledad brushed off eraser dust from her shirt, then said abruptly, "I don't keep souvenirs. You could see it that way too, I guess."

The daughter of Phobos wondered if Ari really cared. Now that Soledad had gotten into a conversation, probably the first time that week, she decided that there was no harm continuing. Soledad stared inscrutably into the girl's eyes, her head tilted a slight degree to the left. "Does it bother you?"