While inspiration was still fresh in her mind, she reread her notes one last time to make sure that the future her would be able to understand what she’d written. She stumbled on a line. What did she mean by that—here? Clarifications appended on the side, she folded it in half, and stashed it in her back-pocket. Standing up, she yawned, and stretched herself.

  Her body felt somewhat sore, but in a good way. Nothing a little stroll outside couldn’t fix. She put on her vest; then her coat. Look—how it all narrowed at her hips and her shoulders. Her tight-fit trousers (akin to breeches) she had slept in last night especially accentuated the contours of her thighs. What an hourglass figure she had! Again, she had to remind herself that these were her only pairs; that she had to be extra-careful to not get them soiled.

  If not today, then by tomorrow, she had to go buy some spare clothes. And something to carry it in, like a valise.

  She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror.

  Her tousled black hair, slightly disheveled, covered her entire forehead. She tried to fix it, but nothing she did seem to get it back to how it once was. Five minutes of fooling around later, she decided to leave as it was, before she made it worse.

  She tried to stand casually, but found how she let her hands hang all wrong. Then her legs.

  She recognized her symptoms immediately.

  “Don't overthink it, darling.”

  Wow. Did she really say that?

  She winced. But why the backlash? There was nothing to be bashful about in saying something risqué. Did she want to stay aloof and reserved forever? In all the years she had spent playing Project Elyse, how did she imagine Enza, as a person?

  “Vivacious, charismatic, witty, morally-vague… Maybe not that… Larger than life?”

  Again, she looked at herself in the mirror, and this time tried not to break eye-contact. It was hard. Then, leaning her weight on one leg, she bent forward, and sent a flying kiss towards herself. She blushed. “Aiyah!~”—Fled. “How do girls do this without cringing!!!” Her moans were muffled by the pillow she had buried her face in. One had to commit to a gesture, with confidence, to succeed. But even a failed gesture had its own sort of charm, if not more, if done with a pretty face.

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  It took her time, but once she recovered, she tidied her bed till not one crease remained like nothing had happened. Then she clipped the razorblade back in her cuffs, looked at herself in the mirror one last time, and finally headed outside.

  Any warmth there was disappeared the moment she stepped out Edson Hotel.

  The morning was cold, but pleasantly so. An engine spluttered to a start, somewhere, or tried to, and failed. She heard the unmistakable hum of airships fall over the otherwise quiet street, only now waking up, but she did not see any when she looked up; only enormous orange-hued clouds. Perhaps they were there, inside, or above them, hiding in plain sight.

  Lower-Ednin in daytime did not look so depressing as it had in the harsh and pale moonlight. The twists and turns she thought could’ve refuged a ruffian last night did not look so daunting now. The unrepetitive warren was by no means ugly, but it had a dilapidated look to it, which, in moderation, enriches the feel of a city rather than mars it. None of the buildings looked the same, but differed slightly from each other in their detail. Homes co-existed with shops, all the way to the great wall, two hundred meters tall, where people, ants from such distance, could be seen admiring the sun crest over the city.

  Not far from Edson Hotel, were the ruins of what once must’ve been a small brewery. A third of it still stood, somehow, without its floors. A break through its crumbled walls revealed on the other side an arched gateway, that led her into a market plaza. Workshops, smithies, et.al.—an apothecary, this world’s drugstore / pharmacy—as well as a flower shop, eateries, etc. Most of the shops were closed. ‘Open, 9 am to 5 pm’ some of the signs read. Taking a peek through one of the display window, she saw figures walking inside: people getting ready to start their day, drinking tea.

  As she tried to figure out how the drinking fountains worked, a truck came and stopped not far from her. Workmen got out, and began to crates onto the side of the road. Wiping her wet cheeks, she stood on the sideline, and watched a young girl in uniform get out with a clipboard under her arm, and stride up to one of the shops—a lapidarist’s workshop—and sternly knock on their door. Tapping her foot, she made no attempts to hide her impatience. But what caught her onlooker’s curiosity, were her ears, which were a little too long to be a human’s, peeking under her vintage postman’s cap.

  An elf? Satou thought. Or a half-elf. They exist?

  Diversity was a fortuitous sign. Not only did it signify that Ednin was at least tolerant towards its non-human subjects, but the evidence also entertained the possibility of other races, out there in the world: dwarfs, beastmen, and who knew what other races! Perhaps for the first time in her life, she found herself longing for an education. She knew where to look for answers too. If memory serves her right, then there was a bookstore not far from here she had passed not too long ago.