Kyrylo stepped cautiously, looking in all directions and trying not to shift the loose bits of gravel on the stone floor. All around him faint whispers echoed, some loud and other soft as if promising to reveal thousands of untold secrets to whomever would sit still and stay long enough to decipher them. Gaze lingering on a half broken statue of some long gone Fae he placed his hands on the marble tracing the line of the face; so familiar and yet, entirely new.

The last time he had visited during the tour he had not had enough time to investigate the area further. Now that his home was settled and they were released to go and pursue their own interests he was back. So many things about this place intrigued him; what had those Fae done to merit a statue of their likeness? Why of all places did the spirits decide to gather here? And, if this place was so important to all the Fae, then why had they let it fall to ruin, abandoning it to the corrosive powers of nature? Walking around the room in a small circle he admired each of the statues that dominated the area one by one, looking for some sort of name or identification.

Finding one statue that really drew his attention far back from the entrance, he made his way too it in almost reverent awe. Surely the amazing piece of art that stood before him must have been a very impressive figure in life. Slipping a few sheets of vellum from a pouch he had made from the waxen leaves of a plant he had found, he lay them carefully on a spot on the ground that was not damp. Kneeling he pulled out a quill and his bottle of berry ink and began to sketch the statue. He had every intention of showing the sketch to Caer and asking who the person was, if he was lucky she might have enough information for him to write a small journal of all the important figures that littered this very room.

As he worked the soft plink of water falling in the distance caught his attention. Deciding that he was quite thirsty after having flown all this way carrying his newly made supplies, he stood and began to investigate the overgrown ivy hall ways that branches from the main rooms. Eventually he came across a small pool of water surrounded by off flowering plants and the more urgent voices of the spirits. Ignoring both for the time being he lay on his stomach and cupped handfuls of the fresh cool water to drink until his thirst was sated. Splashing a bit of water on his face and rinsing a bit of ink that had stained his fingers, he stilled as his ears picked up a new sound.

• [list:dc01b7aa27]
  
  
  Sunlight echoed around her faint figure, a glimpse of unwritten light, a shy breath of silver etchings on her transparent visage. Spirits had no real corporeal bearing after all, though they were certainly a veritable part of the Garden. All she had was Her Voice, stronger than that of any Spirit so new and unknown; it fell truer, deeper on the ear, more real and expressive than that of the collective. Amaryllis loved her voice. It was her greatest pleasure, to idle about among the soulful lilies and sing ancient ballads; the roses heard the scores of love songs she sang, the daises her simple tunes, clean and undecorated. The great, wise trees listened, a rustling audience to her contemplative airs as she composed what few lines had escaped the critical eye of her mental editor.
  
  The House of Eagles was her favorite place for singing though. All the other Spirits, particularly the younger ones, liked to cluster around her, vague hints of moonshine in the bend of the air to signal their presence. But that was not the cause of her own favor towards the place. It, more than any other location in the Garden, reeked of history and thought. As if all the knowledge in the world could be found in the stony planes of countless frozen faces. The Fae might not take the best care of the statues, but Amaryllis did what she could. She blew at stray leaves, watching them flutter from an unmoving hand or bent head; she dropped notes and melodies in the deaf ears, most comfortable and at ease with her unresponsive appreciators.
  
  Today had been a good day. The sun was high, cheerful and warm. The winds were gentle, breezes that whisked through with a playful laugh in her inner mind. Flowers boomed into crashes of color, swaying as they distracted her from the intended path. But she did not want to be too waylaid, so determination fueled her normally aimless wandering.
  
  The marble roof reached high into the sky, a set of sharp, cleverly mastered lines that arched into harmony. Instantly, the moment she drifted through the doorway, her kin formed a loose crowd around her, most of them asking eagerly what new songs she had gleaned for the day. Ever willing to please, particularly with Her Voice, for it was her only distinctive quality, Amaryllis opened her mouth, lips parting in a small 'o'.
  
  "Hide from the snow,
  Hide from your memories,
  Hide from the regret.
  Where can I go?
  The snow, the dream,
  Fall, drifting, in my own heart.
  
  In the endless world,
  Can I find that single star?
  My star, my star, the shining light,
  Will you be my love, my hope?
  My star, my star, my guidance in the twilight.
  
  Somehow today seems further away,
  Harder to catch.
  Somehow, yesterday seems closer,
  Closer to me or you?
  
  Just give me your hand,
  I'll grab it and run towards the sun,
  I'll grab your hand, and we'll fly to the sky.
  
  In the endless world,
  Can I find that single star?
  My star, my star, the shining light,
  Will you be my love, my hope?
  My star, my star, my guidance in the twilight.
  
  Be my addiction, my cure.
  The perfect match,
  Like two bells tolling in the distance."
  
  As she sang, her unheard footsteps sounded, floating from one room to another, dropping in to sing a line or two and disappearing back into the hallway as she moved throughout the architectural wonder. Without will nor volition, her mindless paces had brought her to the drinking pool, a beloved place for debate and gossip to run rampant next to the other. The Spirits gathered there for their conversations, as muted and empty as their words sounded. A few jerked their translucent heads up, a pleasant hum in their greetings to tell of their thanks for her song. Amaryllis had the strongest and sweetest song out of them all, the Spirits agreed, and if she could have blushed, she might have.
  
  Nonetheless, she felt the thin thread of humble denial enter her voice as she returned their greetings. But then something in the corner of her eyes sparkled, long locks of spun honey glimmered and a canvas of colors snared her focus.
  
  Why, it was a Fae! A Whisperer if she wasn't mistaken, and the coherent hum of voices next to her assured her she wasn't. He had stopped moving, head lifted as if he had heart her entrance. But few heard her Voice unless she addressed them directly and fewer heard her without the intent of approach on her part. How then, had he heard her? Admittedly, Her Voice was strong, but surely not that strong...
  
  She held her breath and stood still, body motionless. He was but two or three feet from her, looking puzzled and unsure. What could she do? Hesitation stole into her heart. The greater beings of the Fae did not regularly bother themselves with the Spirits, yet he seemed genuinely curious and young. Perhaps he did not know...?
  
  Amaryllis decided to wait for an action on his part before doing anything. It was the sane thing to do...
  
  
  

[/list:u:dc01b7aa27]

As Kyrylo sipped slowly the water from his hands he thought he could almost hear the faintest trails of a melody. Stilling he strained his ears trying to catch the elusive tune that danced in and out of his awareness. He was certain he had heard the soft strains of music coming in his general direction though it seemed to have stopped when it was relatively close. He wished it would start again, whether it was his tiredness from the trip or some invisible being the music had touched him on an emotional level. He had heard that there were many mysteries of this garden and that the spirits flocked here in troves, but never had he heard of a mysterious music. Come to think of it, the other whispery voices that had been calling so urgently before seemed more like a murmur of contentment now.

Pushing himself upright and into a cross-legged sitting position he looked around the room slowly, trying to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. He took in the wall of ivy, water gently cascading down its leaves to fall in the crystal clear pool of water surrounded by moss. He examined the old weathered roots of a very large tree's roots that broke through one wall to plunge through the ground below. The slight shift of light opened his eyes to something else. the room was filled with, something he wasn't certain of. Not exactly solid, but at the same time, in the right lighting you could almost make out a form, a vague shape of something, or somethings, occupying the room with him.

Intrigued he let out a long breath to calm his excitement and tried to pinpoint the location of "the thing" once more; only to see nothing as the light had sifted once more. That would teach him to come when the sun was sinking behind a scattering of clouds. Reaching into his bag he pulled out a small pan pipe and tried to imitate the tune he had heard, eyes casting about trying to note any changes in the air.

"I know you are there" he called out softly, "I won't hurt you". Grinning sheepishly to himself he thought about how stupid the last part had sounded; he could not even see what it was, never mind do anything in which to hurt them, unless of course they found his pipe playing to be offensive to the ears. He had only made the pipe just a few days ago and his tune did not carry nearly as well as the one he heard before did; if anything he was slightly off key.

• [list:d60ef2c2ad]
  
  
  The words made her laugh, and the laughter bubbled inside her, without beginning nor end, as if it sprung eternal. Being a Spirit meant you laughed with no cares, mourned with no fear, sobbed with no hesitation. It meant that no matter what emotion you expressed other would not overhear and turn the embarrassing spotlight upon you. It led to a lighter, more genuine sort of smile, innocent and naive.
  
  As Amaryllis felt her laugh taper down to a lilting giggle, she attempted to speak directly to him, voice strong and confident. He was approachable... even laid back. It was his soft voice, curious and polite that convinced her of his sincerity. With a keen interest, she watched as he plucked a crudely made pipe out of his bag, hands fluttering across the surface; the tenderness with which he treated it told her instantly that he had been the one to craft the instrument. But then he lifted it to his mouth and began a slow, cautious imitation of the tune she had been singing.
  
  The melody flew out, unsure and uncertain as it wavered in the air. Essentially, he had grasped the basics of it, but a few key notes would ring sour and foreign, obviously not part of the tune.
  
  Amaryllis took pity on him and drifted toward the Fae. She stopped a foot from him and knelt down by him, ethereal body a mere bend in the air that refracted oddly in direct light. She paused and laid a hand on his, nudging at his fingers until the pipe slid from his hands. Snatching the opportunity, the unseen girl brought it to her mouth and blew gently, transparent hands flying across the surface as she learned the delicate nuances of the tool. A smile lit her face and still smiling, she began an exact rendition of the song she had been singing.
  
  The notes flowed out, pure and untouched, a tang of wilderness lying in the undertone. She only played a small section of the song before returning the pipe to his possession. "Did you enjoy the song, sir? It took a few nights before I reached this point." Merry ambivalence danced in her voice, and even if he could not see her, any intuitive creature could tell from the inflection of her words that she was welcoming him.
  
  "Is this your first time meeting a Spirit?" Amaryllis inquired gently, curious like a newborn was of the world.
  
  
  

[/list:u:d60ef2c2ad]

The gentle ring of laughter that surrounded Kyrylo caused him to green sheepishly, "I've only just started playing with it" he mumbled as a slight brush of invisible fingers touched his and took the pipe. In awe he listened to the sweet music that poured from his instrument watching as the light around it bent so that occasionally he could almost make out the thin fingers playing and the slight frame of body behind it. Closing his eyes trying to imagine what manner of spirit could play such hauntingly beautiful music and still manage to be so new to the world they lived in.

As the short part of the tune wound to a close he peeked out of one eye and grinned, "sound's ever so much better when you play it", pausing he ruffled his wings and flooded them across his back, "the song was wonderful" he admitted before leaning back to take another sip of water. It seemed odd that all the other rustling whispers in the room had once more become completely silent when she had begun to play his pipe; where had all the Spirits gone? or were they all just silent so as to better enjoy her playing?

Standing he began to walk back towards the first room in which he had left his ink and sketches. "You are the first Spirit I've had the opportunity to talk to," he said while ducking through the door way and starting down the hall, "I left a book over here" he explained as he peeked into each room he passed looking for his stuff, "your song makes me want to draw". He could not really explain why he had the sudden urge to draw, but throughout her singing and the pipe music he had thought he had almost caught a glimpse of her and now had the urge to draw what he had seen out so he could show the portrait to Caer and ask about this interesting turn of events.

"Do all Spirits sing?" he asked as he while kneeling to gather up the pile of his belongings he had left in the center of the circle of statues, "and can i talk to the others as well, or are you somehow special? because i can't really make out what the others are whispering about".