The Empire State Building 'The Spire'
On the observation deck of the empire state building tourists jostled and pressed against the fence that separated them from an 800 foot fall to asphalt oblivion. On the edge of that precipitous drop beyond view of the mortals just an arm length away, a crude crack in the concrete formed a jagged doorway. Through it flitted something no bigger than a horse fly, but it was no insect. The tiny creature with pointed ears and sky blue skin dashed with glitter was a pixie, a fairy messenger on dragonfly wings. It dove through the crack with room to spare and followed the jagged tunnel past the guards who buzzed their wings and lifted their toothpick lances in greeting.
Pressed for time, the pixie could not offer his kith any acknowledgement except a tilt of his wings as he darted onward. Beyond the guards the dark concrete cave filled with light before opening not from the surface of some biggun-built skyscraper, but rather natural granite mountain side. Bursting fourth in all the color and vibrance of a painter's dream, a lush valley expanded out below the rock slopes, another world forged by the magic of the fairy. A midst its greenery no evidence of the human world, its iron, steel and disbelief, was visible, just untainted nature and impossible architecture. At the center of this hidden paradise, a building that only a madman's imagination could erect, thrust up at the artificial sun. In contrast to the enchanted valley, the spire stood dark and brooding, forged of black stone and shrouded in storm clouds that hovered just above its jagged point. The spire was a singular nightmare surrounded by a dream.
On his straight course to the Spire's serrated apex the pixie passed squads of his own kind training in their wedge formations as well as Sidhe nobility and Sprite courtesans enjoying the enclave's perpetual spring day. All gave him a wide berth, even the Sidhe who recognized the crescent eye on his tunic, their countess's coat of arms. Under the shadow of the Spire's clouds all was silent and still and the pixie found himself holding his breath until he remembered that even in this dreamlike place he needed oxygen. He dared not catch his breath, however, until he landed at his destination. He fluttered to a stop upon a narrow balcony ringing the palatial quarters. Despite being perched high above everything in this dreamworld, he was not alone.
"No need to rush," Lady Nyora assured him in between her thoughtful marital poses. The young sidhe often used the high platform to practice her swordplay and as such her graceful sweeps and parries were a familiar sight to the lowly messenger. Scarlet hair streaming between emerald wings, she stepped and glided lightly across the black stone on bare feet, thrusting and chopping at monsters her high rank prevented her from ever facing in the flesh. "She's been in her sanctum for nearly a day working on some kind of summons." She swept her glittering dreamblade about in a shining arc. "Probably another one of those ugly gargoyles."
"My apologies my lady," the pixie sputtered, "but the message is urgent. It concerns... security at the upcoming ball."
"Security?" Nyora, whose interest in social affairs normally stopped before it began, snatched at the scroll. The pixie twiddled his thumbs nervously as the young hier to the realm unrolled the parchment and read the contents. Her eyes suddenly sparkled to match her blade. "I need you to carry another message," she spoke attention still locked on the scroll.
"To whom, my lady?"
"To the our seamstress. Tell her I'll be needing a suitable gown by this evening." She made a quick study of her sword's brightly colored scabbard, "something that matches with pink."
