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Paper


by pandora

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Paper is a cloud, whisked along with the wind. It is the silver gleam of the moon, empty and bloated beneath inky stars.

     It waits for its story to be written.

     ~*~*~

     Faerie-tales bloom from paper-wings; moments are kept sacred and scattered across its colorless surface. They burst like nova-dust and bloom like noil-lilies; Fyora writes out spellbooks in enchanted script, Skarl scrawls treaties on tattered scrolls. Pirates sail from Krawk Island, guided by tumbling, paper-maps with promises just as thin. Hagan skims a volume from his endless, paper library, piled around him like a crystal-white castle in itself. Jhudora checks off a name from her eternal quest-list and Illusen does the same, worlds away. The Altadorian Archives are famed, fragile scrolls--tangible history.

     Somewhere in the city, a neopet is adopted, fate sealed with paper prestige.

     The stories are endless; Neopia is connected by paper-chains.

     ~*~*~

     "Tell me a story," says the Aisha, eyes a wide, pallid blue. "I love stories."

     "You'll only forget," says her mother, her coat green and lush as emeralds. "Maybe another time. You're tired."

     "But I want to hear one now!" she pouts, and then her gaze is swept over by heavy lids. "And I'm not sleepy, Mama!"

     The older Aisha relents, calm as the Maraquan sea. "Alright, my darling," she murmurs. "Alright..."

     "Go on, I won't forget this time, Mama!"

     "Once upon a time..."

     ~*~*~

     Did you know the Brain Tree read books? By the million--before he shed his leaves for his bulging brain, his branches were adorned with paper. Did you know that countless bottled letters land in the depths of Maraqua? Water faeries and finned pets always come across the glass-cased treasures, surfacing from the sea in order to keep the paper from breaking beneath the weight of water. Words do not write themselves---these are tales of the great beyond, hope-laced papers bottled from as far as Faerieland. Did you know of the hope and care tucked beneath every sheet of paper?

     Do you see the birthday and thank-you and holiday cards that lay untouched and unnoticed at your bedside? They are dusty, paper wings, unappreciated and bound to the earth of Neopia. Do you notice where the ink on the sheet is too dark because somebody lingered for too long on a single thought? Do you notice the letter from your neopet in the pound, begging for you to take her back? How, in your guilt, you've pushed it to the bottom of your paper-towers, beneath the advertisements and magazines and books?

     Do you?

     ~*~*~

     "...In the faraway land of Shenkuu, they invented this marvelous thing called paper."

     "Paper?" the Aisha whispers, letting the word twist down her tongue. "Mama, that's--"

     "Hush, dear." She smiles. "Let me tell you the story."

     "Okay." The tiny, blue-eared neopet nods happily. "I've never heard this one before."

     ~*~*~

     The Neopian Times is a weight in your lap, waiting to be read. Stories and answers and news and all of Neopia is wrapped along a spine of paper. You go on to read the editorial, your little pet scrambles for the comics.

     All is well in the world.

     ~*~*~

     "And she was so, so beautiful." There are tears in those Meridell-green eyes, and the young Aisha is only becoming more and more perplexed.

     "She?" the small, small pet asks. "Mama, what are you talking about?"

     "Paper," she murmurs, nuzzling her with Aisha-ears. "Mama has to go now."

     Stories are broken. Faerie-tales stop on their winged feet.

     "Where?"

     "Goodbye, Paper."

     "What are you doing, Mama, where are you going?"

     You can never fully forget what is already written.

     "I'll be back soon."

     Lies are not on paper; no, those are set in stone.

     ~*~*~

     Fyora casts a spell from memory, spellbooks folded beneath a bed of clouds. Hagan recites a cherished poem; his brother paces anxiously, waiting for the night's feast. The pirates have found their treasures, have tossed the maps into the sea and locked them in chests. The Altadorian Archives are closed and there are no bottles floating through the waves of Maraqua.

     Paper, for the day, is forgotten to the world.

     ~*~*~

     The little Aisha awakens to a startling lack of light. The room is dingy and cold, the walls are dreary.

     Her eyes sting with saltwater. "I want my mama!" she wails, for the world to hear, but no one is there.

     "Somebody...?" she sniffles, tired and starved. "Anybody..."

     The dark is not comforting and she feels utterly alone. The Aisha is ready to scream again, but the door finally twists open, revealing skin the shade of paper and hair dark as ink.

     A girl, the Aisha realizes, it is a girl at the door. She has never seen a human before, so the Aisha goes silent and stares up with doe-eyes. At the girl's feet is something quick and pink as cotton candy, prattling and light.

     "You must be Paper," the girl says kindly, bending down to the small pet's level. "I'm Nora." She smiles, before gesturing to the pink blur at her ankles. "And this is Litta. She'll be your new sister."

     "Paper," the Aisha mouths, pale-ears perked. Tears well in her eyes as she remembers her mama's story. "Mama..."

     She is not able to forget.

     ~*~*~

     The soaked maps are relinquished from the ocean's hold. Fyora's spellbooks are stacked on the counter of the Hidden Tower. Hagan is immersed in his library yet again, while Skarl is signing paper-work for a meeting with Darigan. In Shenkuu, they celebrate their festivals with paper-lanterns. There are twice as many bottles caught by the sea-beds of Maraqua to make up for their time of absence. A pretty Uni receives a mysterious valentine. The Neopian Times anniversary comes and passes and more and more copies are sold. Pets are being adopted left and right and the paperwork is piled to from the tiles to the ceilings of pounds. The Altadorian Archives are open, and countless plot-goers are milling around it in hopes of solving its mysteries.

     Neopia's paper-chains stitch back together.

     ~*~*~

     "Litta, do not eat my cupcake!" Paper screeches, chasing the tiny Gnorbu around the small neohome in anger.

     "It's not yours, it's mine!" she calls to her little sister, turning back in time to stop herself from knocking over her owner's favorite vase.

     "You already ate yours..." Paper whines, before an idea sweeps over her small form. She turns hurriedly, stomping towards the stairs. "Fine, take it, it's yours now!"

     "Huh?" Litta is taken aback, mouth half-full and smeared with vanilla icing.

     "You heard me." Paper smiles sweetly. "You can have it. But I guess I won't be sharing something with you."

     "Share what?" Litta asks eagerly, trying to lick the frosting from the corner of her mouth. "Tell me!"

     "Well," she says in reply. "I'd love to tell you just how I got my name..." Litta gasps; she has always wanted to hear the story. "But you'd have to give my my cupcake back first!"

     "Wha... deal, deal! Okay?" The baby Gnorbu fumbles for the words, quickly agreeing. "You can have the stinking cupcake, just tell me!"

     The pair are about to slip up the stairs when they come face to face with their owner, Nora, a sour look on her face.

     "You two..." she yawns tiredly, obviously waking up from their noisiness."It's way too late for little neopets your age to be up. I sent you to bed hours ago."

     And before they can even mouth a word of protest, she picks them up, one under each arm, and places them in their beds.

     ~*~*~

     They face each other from opposite cribs. Starlight spills in from the window, keeping the baby pets awake.

     "Paper?" Litta whispers from the right.

     The Aisha stirs beneath her warm blanket, nodding the sleep from her eyes. "Yea?"

     "Tell me the story."

     "Not now." Paper yawns. "You're tired."

     "But I want to hear it now!" Her sister pouts. "I'm not sleepy, anyway."

     The mirror-words do not startle the Aisha; instead, she laughs. It comes out a whisper.

     "Okay, Lit," she murmurs. "Okay."

     "C'mon, hurry---"

     "Sheesh, give me a moment!" Paper calls back, before her voice takes on a dreamy, faerie-tale quality.

     "Once upon a time..."

     "--This sounds good." Litta hums.

     "...In the faraway land of Shenkuu, they invented this marvelous thing called paper."

The End

 
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