Shelves of Oddities, The Birth of Magic

Branch walked into the flickering soft-lit hall. Statues and other ornately worked sculptures, lined the walls. They were made of silver and copper and gold, and they varied in shape and form, some were beautiful depictions of nature. Of a woman, or man. Others were twisted and confusing, made to wind through the corridors of someone’s thoughts. Mainly landing on, ‘what is this?’.
The walls themselves were dark, leathery wood that gave the whole place an odd, old and forgotten feel. Like you were walking into a piece of the past. In a way that was what happened. The Exchangery was full of the past. He stopped before an old -very old- statue out of the Stormlands. At least that was what he assumed, it was a depiction a man who carried lightning, as if he was enveloped by it.
“Branch? Well, well, now this is a surprise.” A crackled voice fell through the silence, followed by the sound of shuffling feet.
“Marin!” He called back.
Marin walked toward him, she carried a lantern that gave off a glowing yellow light. She was shorter with curled hair, it was frosted white now. The last time he was here, she had been running the place, though with a head of dark brown hair. She was the curator of this massive collection. Though it seemed this place ran whoever was here. It was a conglomerated mess of all the things that needed to be stored away, and an old city had its ways of gathering.
“Look at you! The years have flown by, how have they treated you?” She said, and it was genuine, not the rudimentary, sub-standard way of greeting someone that many used.
“Of course they treated me well! I was there, and now, I’m still here! How, Marin, have they treated you?” He turned the genuine back to her. “Has the Exchangery swallowed up any young mages since the last time we met?”
She chuckled, a soft thing, a subtle laughter that felt like velvet. He had been that young mage not too long ago. He had come in one day, on a trip to get something for Trent. Hours later, he had been found by Marin wandering through the endless shelves of oddities.

#writerofage
#woa

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