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Olivier Song is 6 years old when they arrive at Downing Hill Public Library. They arrived with help from others, but they are alone now, as they sink to their knees in front of the tall doors rising impossibly high above them. They feel the exhaustion in their bones, and they can go no further. This is as good a place as any to stop and rest, they thought, curling in on themself. As they feel their eyes grow heavy, they feel a whoosh of air, and suddenly, they are inside.
They open their eyes to see a dim area full of shelves, and a warm presence nearby. “The director will see you now”, a voice seems to vibrate through their skull. Their head whips around, trying to see where the voice has come from, but as soon as they try, they are seated in front of a large desk, with a faceless being behind it. There are peppermint candies, tea, and cookies on this desk, and Olivier aches to reach for them, but restrains themself. This did not feel like a safe place to do so, and the last time they had tried to reach for food, they had lost someone.
“Hello,” another voice resonated from the faceless being. Olivier was not afraid of them. They had encountered worse in their travels, and at this point, they had accepted this as normal. “I am the Director of Downing Hill Public Library. What is your name?”
“Olivier.” They tried to sit up straight, and make eye contact. They had been taught by every adult that they knew to show respect for their elders, and the importance of a good impression. Too many times, they had been reprimanded in one form or another for their laziness, and they didn’t want to risk punishment. “Olivier Song.”
Song may not have been the name they were given. Olivier, young as they were, wanted to be their own person, however. With that, the Director swiped her hands across the table, three cards appeared.
“There are three choices in front of you, young Olivier” The Director announced. “One will lead to good things, one will lead to bad things, and one will lead to the unthinkable. Choose wisely, young Olivier. I sense power in you, and trust that you will make us proud, if you are to choose the right path.” Olivier didn’t know what to make of that. They were indecisive on the best of days, and they had no idea what was happening. They shook their head gently, not wanting to choose, but they felt a wave of negative energy passing over them, and thought twice. It was the same feeling that came the moment before a hit landed. Without taking a moment to think, they reached out and chose the middle card.
The card displayed a long expanse of books, a girl in braids, and clouds, clouds rising everywhere. A future. A possible future with these people, in this vast expanse of books. “Very well, Olivier. Well done on your decision. Welcome to the Downing Hill Public Library. I cannot wait to see what potential you have, and what powers and honor you will bring to our name.”
And with that, the scene dissolved in front of Olivier. They were back in the dim, but slightly more well-lit library. They crumpled slightly on their feet, feeling the fullness of their exhaustion hit them, and the wave of sadness overcome them. As they wept onto the carpet, they heard footsteps walking towards them, and they raised their head. A tall man with a prosthetic leg was walking towards them, looking at them. They curled in on themself, ready for a blow, or shouting to come from the man. Instead, he stooped down to look at them.
“Are you the new arrival?” he asked.
After a beat, Olivier responded with a small nod.
“Good. I’ll show you to your room. You’ll need rest if you are to learn at Downing Hill. Your program starts tomorrow, so let’s get you to your room, little boy.”
Olivier was too exhausted to correct the man. It was another thing that adults had taught them not to do, frequently acting irritated and forgetting their pronouns quickly. The man seemed kind enough, and Olivier just wanted to rest. They were led to a small room with yellow wallpaper and a comfortable bed, with a small wardrobe in the corner. As the man left, Olivier sat on the bed and curled up. They were asleep before they knew it. In the coming days they would meet people, some of whom would stay, some of whom would go. The only presence that seemed to truly last was that of the cawing mass of ravens that coalesced into a human form. They stood silently and peacefully, followed every order, and were showered by praises that they had never yet experienced.
Olivier Song is 8 years old when she creates her first storm without struggling. From the first week, she has known that the powers to control storms ran through her blood, but the action is like a muscle that requires work and stretching. The first few times, the pain of summoning a cloud alone brought her nearly to tears. But her efforts were always appreciated, always rewarded, and she was even entrusted to help around the library. She gained respect.
This is what love must feel like, she thought. It hurts, and it’s hard, but I earn it, and these people respect me for it, and love me for my power. This kept her working, straining to create clouds, which morphed into storms, which morphed into more as the days went by. On that fateful day, the students had been tested, a revenant deer brought in to allow for a challenge. The animal had rampaged, causing injuries for a moment until Olivier had a clear shot. The lighting of the storm coursed through the deer, shaking it to its bones, and as it fell with a mighty crash, Olivier could not help but feel pride in herself.
As she sat down to dinner, she could feel the gazes of other students on her. She saw a few whispering, caught the smell of ozone in the room after her storm. She felt as if she could rise out of her chair to the heavens above.
The man from the first night sat down next to her. “Good job today, Olivier.” Olivier had learned that he would occasionally ask for her pronouns for the day, but largely referred to his students by name. “However, the only thing I would say is that you need to work on your timing and aim.”
Olivier felt their heart drop. “You see, Olivier, the strike hit the beast in the leg, and sure, the voltage was high enough to kill the deer on impact, but if you had reached its heart or head, especially if you had reached the heart or head sooner, we wouldn’t have quite so many in the infirmary today.” He spooned a mouthful of soup, and continued “I don’t blame you for the injuries, see, but I think if you had been better and moved faster, you’d have been the ultimate weapon.”
Olivier’s head spun slightly. She had done well today, but she could have done better. All of the joy, and the lightness in her chest had turned into tight binds, rooting her here to the spot where she sat. It was unpleasant, and she felt the warmth of a blush come across her cheeks as she lowered her head slightly in shame. Her teacher moved away as Olivier picked at her food, her appetite gone.
In that moment, Olivier resolved to become the best, to become the top student of Downing Hill. She wanted, no, she needed to become the best, to keep receiving love from her teachers, and protections for Downing Hill. Just a few mornings ago, she had seen what happened to the disappointments. She had no intention of becoming one.
As if overnight, Olivier began studying harder, practicing more, sparring with other students and finding new ways to train. She learned to levitate, and worked on her knowledge and skills.
“If I make myself valuable to the Library,” she thought, every time she faltered, or broke, or struck just left of perfectly true. “Then I remain safe, secure, surrounded by knowledge in this home. I can be safe, and I can be happy if only I work for them, and make myself perfect for the system.”
Olivier Song is 10 when he meets Friday Rescher.
She is taller than him by a small amount, and she clings silently to a locket around her neck. Her parents or guardians are nowhere to be seen, but the Director speaks to her powers and usefulness. And so Friday enters Olivier’s classes. By this time they have gotten better and better at what they do, rising through the ranks of their class.
There is a certain draw to Friday, however. Her many braids are shiny, and her eyes seem to know more than anyone else Olivier has met. He walks through the library one night, and sees the terrifying Soul Eater spider that resides in an abandoned corridor with Friday standing before it.
She does not look afraid.
As the spider advances, Olivier, driven by a force he cannot explain, knocks into Friday, and they both move out of the way of the spider, whose attention rests on the both of them. Friday pushes Olivier off of her, and turns back to face the spider.
“Sh!” she hisses, holding out a gentle hand towards the spider, nearly lost in the vastness of it. “I think it’s calm towards me. I wanna know it.”
With a start, Olivier realizes that the spider is not lunging for her in the same way it lunges for students and souls throughout these halls. It seems to register her hand, and accept its presence, leaning in gently. Friday laughs gently, and rubs gently at the spider’s face. Then, she turns back to Olivier, and says “Sorry I worried you. I’ve been getting to know her recently. What’s your name again?”
“Olivier. Olivier Song. And aren’t you Friday? The new kid?”
Friday considered this. “Well, when you say it like that it sounds like I’m an outsider. But yeah, I’m Friday. Friday Rescher.”
“Nice to meet you.”
And as the two walked through the shelves, they learned more about each other. Friday’s mother was gone, as were Olivier’s parents. Olivier could make clouds, while Friday was incredibly lucky (or unlucky, as she responded). Friday liked spiders, bats, the color black, and technology. Olivier liked wind, books, tea, and the color blue. They spent the night with a pot of tea in Olivier’s room, a stack of books between them and a fire roaring on the winter night.
Olivier Song is 14 when she looks in the mirror and decides that her hair could use a change. She’s adapted to the old clothing, donning whatever makes her happiest by the day. Loose blouses, skirts, trousers, and shoes that make her appear taller, as though she is hovering over the other students. Or at least their height. Friday had been a constant presence in her life, and she had grown used to late-night conversations that interrupted studying, and Friday’s insistence that breakfast was “important” and that “coffee wasn’t a meal”. She was grateful, of course.
And as Olivier looked in the mirror, at her loose dark hair, and thought about it. Should she cut her hair shorter? She was tired of it getting in the way of storms, flying into her mouth in inopportune moments, but she hated tying it back, or braiding it. She loved the rush of the wind in her hair. As she stared at herself in the mirror, she felt a wave of uneasy energy pass over her from inside, her stomach roiling. She stared at her reflection, willing it to change. Unfortunately, her reflection stayed stubbornly put.
Friday walked in, and saw Olivier staring at herself. “What’s up?” She asked.
“My face and hair don’t look right. I also don’t know how to fix this. I think if I stare long enough this will make sense.”
Friday leaned on the counter, back to the mirror, facing Olivier. “Sounds familiar. Anything I can do to help, or do you want to be left alone?”
She had gotten significantly softer in her time with Olivier. She seemed brighter than she had when she arrived, and she got in trouble for seeking out spiders less (mainly because she got caught less). Her demeanor was less sharp (most of the time) and Olivier appreciated her input.
“Any ideas for ways I can mess with my hair? I think it’s the problem.”
Friday lit up, brighter than the flamethrower she held dear, and ran out of the room. Olivier sat there in confusion for a moment, but didn’t dwell on it. Friday wasn’t the most of all verbal people all the time, but Olivier was sure she had a plan.
Friday dashed back into the bathroom a moment later, holding clippers, a bowl, some gloves, and a few boxes. “How would you feel about cutting and dyeing it?” she bounced gently on the balls of her feet. Olivier thought for a moment before nodding her approval, and Friday flapped her hands for a moment before preparing for the work.
They started with Olivier’s hair. It was long, and Friday grabbed a set of scissors to cut it shorter before shaving it. Olivier watched as her hair grew shorter and shorter, staying long enough on the top to whip around in the breeze and wind, but short enough to stay out of her face. She felt her excitement building, and she happily hummed as her hair finally looked right, flapping her hands gently and then running her hands through her newly-shorn hair.
The bleach and dye smelled strongly, and took several hours, in which Friday slathered chemicals on their hair, making it much lighter before turning it a vibrant shade of blue. As Olivier looked at it, she realized that it was the exact color that was her favorite. As soon as the dye was rinsed, and Olivier only had to wait for her hair to dry, she turned around and hugged Friday impulsively.
The movement was something that she was unused to doing, and for a moment, she worried that she wasn’t doing it right. She had gotten more and more used to gentle touches and squeezing hands, but a full hug seemed unthinkable. However, her worries were squashed as Friday threw her arms back around her. They stood there like that for a while, swaying gently, with small drops of water trickling down off of Olivier’s shoulders to splatter on Friday’s dress.
The next day, Olivier walked in with his head held high, hair swept messily into a style, and electricity in his fingertips. He felt stronger and more alive and happier than he ever had.
Olivier Song is 16 when they receive a present for the first time.
They had finally passed the exam that had been so hard for them, outperforming everyone and becoming the first student to do so. Though the praise of the teachers and the Director and even the Omen brought them great joy, it was a hollow sort. They had done it all. They had expected more from it. But regardless, they were filled with a sense of pride at having finally repaid the library, having earned their love and respect. They walked down the halls, feeling the wind on their shoulders and through their shirt. They walk down the halls of Downing Hill, almost convinced that the surges they feel, and the power that they know courses through their veins represents love and family that exist for them here. They still feel a small gap in their chest, but assume that it will fill with time.
After all, they have a place. They have love. They have a family that will not hit them, that does not refuse when they mention their pronouns.
They finally make it to their door. The feeling in their chest has settled to a dull satisfaction, and the door creaks open. The hours of the day, the studying, training, and lengthy exam hitting Olivier all at once. They move to turn on a lamp to get ready for bed, sitting down
They tense as they feel a second weight on the bed. It is not uncommon for other people and things to attack at Downing Hill, but Olivier knows to be on guard.
They are the star student, after all. They have an image to uphold.
As they whirl to face an opponent, the lamp coming on, releasing a warm glow, black braids are revealed, as is a tiredly blinking Friday, face crinkled with pillow lines. She holds a box in her arms, something long and flat.
“I was wondering if you were ever going to come back,” Friday said, yawning. “Or if the Omen had eaten you for what happened last week.”
Olivier tapped their arms and legs, and made an exaggerated motion to check the rest of their body. “Nope. No raven bites today. All of my limbs are real.”
Friday swatted at them. “You know what I mean. You passed, of course?”
“What do you mean of course? No one else has managed to pass in the history of this school!”
“Oh, but you’re Olivier Song,” Friday drawled, grinning at them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you accept defeat from a mere test.” She bounced on the bed gently a few times. “You passed then?”
“Yes” they grinned back at her, and she enveloped them in another hug. It was growing to become more of a common event, although Olivier worried about Friday. Would she stay? What if she got thrown out? They threw these thoughts to the side though, enjoying the smell of old paper and lighter fluid on Friday’s clothing.
“Congratulations, star pupil.”
As they released each other, Olivier’s eyes darted back to the box. “So, what’s in there? Is it another flamethrower? Do I need to warn the Omen that you’re coming to try to roast them again?”
“No! Although I would consider it a slight betrayal of our friendship if you warn the Omen about any of my nefarious plots.”
“Noted. So, what’s in the box? Tell me, tell me, tell me-”
Friday held up her hands, and called “All right! All right! Calm down!” She held out the box. “It’s for you anyway, so open it!”
Olivier paused. “Its not bees, is it?”
Friday smiled ominously. “Open it to find out.”
“Friday I’m not opening it if it’s bees-”
“It’s not bees! They would be buzzing.”
Olivier sighed, and opened the box. Inside was a long piece of silky blue fabric. Olivier grinned, but their mouth fell open in shock as they pulled it out fully. It was a cloak, one that would cover their shoulders and hands when needed, places that always seemed cold in the library. It was just heavy enough to be a comforting weight without being a burden.
And more than that, it had gorgeous, embroidered clouds across the hem and the fabric. It was silkily soft, and was perfect in every way.
Lost for words, they felt hot tears forming at the corners of their eyes. They hugged Friday, and held her as tears fell gently down their face.
“Wow,” Friday murmured. “I found it at the Dry Market and repaired it, but I wasn’t expecting this reaction. You’d think no one had given you a nice gift before.” Rather than responding, Olivier just hugged her tighter. Taking the silent cue, She continued talking, switching back to talk of the Dry Market. “The guy that sold it found it somewhere, but it was pretty beat up, so it wasn’t expensive. I saw it and thought of you, and I’ve been waiting for a chance to give it to you. I know you’re not a fan, but he had two dogs I think you’d like. He seemed kinda gruff, but really cool, you know?”
As Friday talked on, Olivier felt themself get to a point where they could speak again. They quietly murmured “thank you” like a mantra, like if they said it enough they would feel worthy of the gift.
As Olivier drifted off, they heard Friday sleepily say “You didn’t need to earn this, and it’s a gift, Olivier. Please don’t feel like it’s something you have to repay. You’re an amazing person and friend.” but they weren’t sure that it wasn't just a dream.
Either way, Friday shrieks when she finds the soft, plush spider and elegant bracelet of silver with a spider pendant on her pillow a few days later. Olivier can feel her joy from a few rooms over, and it makes him smile.
Olivier Song is 18 when she is banished from Downing Hill Public Library.
It is...not a good day.
She is numb as she makes the slow march to the house of the Instrumentalist. She knows that the library is known for lending helping hands in exchange for favors and books, but she can’t help but feel this is different. The winds blow heavily around her, reflecting her mood, and she tries her hardest to keep the rains at bay. It works, mostly, although a few small drops mimic the tears from her face. She wraps her cloak around herself tighter, hoping it may bring her some comfort in these hours.
Her mind flies through scenarios, many ugly. She will never be allowed back in the library. She will never be accepted back into the corridors of Downing Hill. Her small yellow room will be forever lost. Her friends and family have turned their backs on her, and she will have nowhere to go. She can almost feel the image of Friday crashing through her brain, lunging at her, yelling about how she’s unworthy to wear the cloak, to be counted among the numbers of students and successes from Downing Hill. As the wind whips past her, threatening to tear the cloak from her shoulders, she grips it tighter.
“No,” she thinks to herself. “I will earn their respect back. I will earn their love and their praise once again. I’ve done it before and I can do it again. I am a storm. I am a witch. I am Olivier Song, and I do NOT GIVE UP!”
All of a sudden, the winds die down. Olivier feels a familiar sense of pressure and control return to her limbs, feels the cloak hang off of her shoulders. Downing Hill would come to accept her back. She was their star pupil, their best student, and a powerful witch.
Maybe Friday wouldn’t act the same around her after she got back. Maybe things wouldn’t be the same, but the library would be her home and her family again. She was sure if she could try harder, go farther, and put more strain on herself, she could regain her position.
It wouldn’t be the same, if Friday was different...but it would be okay. And as Olivier moved on with greater speed and determination, she held onto that hope of being “okay”. It would have to be enough.
Oliver Song is 19 when he ends up in a tree, sitting, feeling the winds swirl around him.
He hadn’t been enough. He had become lazy and indifferent. Many things had come to pass in his time here. He had done horrible things. Any time he wondered if he was doing goof things, if the library really meant this as a test od dedication, if they truly knew what they were doing, he held onto the warm moments with Friday, the comfortable corridors, and the rush of power, adoration even, from the library. He held onto the notion of being powerful and valued.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough.
The revenant, the one who had hit him, taken Riot, had been torn to shreds and come back for more was just an obstacle, he thought, but they had proven too hard to overcome. The man with a silver sword was dead, and still ghosts were freed, the Scoutpost continued to exist, and that girl...Riot, was free and loose. Sure, Olivier made a storm that caught the key and the boy (as he had come to know him) that Solomon wanted, but still, he struggled to catch the girl. To catch the revenant. To fight off an old man to even get that old woman, Zelda, back. The winds blowing through his hair didn’t feel as comforting as they usually did. They felt cold. The cloak that Friday had given him was muddy and dirty and filthy. He wasn’t worthy of the gift, and he was beginning to think he wasn’t worthy of much of anything. His chest and ribcage hurt, his arms were sore, and he could swear that an ankle had twisted. He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. Who could possibly care? He was washed up and not powerful in any way that could help the library.
In this moment, he thought of Friday, as a snowflake drifted down from the sky. It wasn’t his own. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Friday liked snowflakes. Friday liked snow, despite her dark aesthetic. He remembered running through the snow with her.
“Friday...I’m sorry.” he thought, resting his head on the trunk of a tree. You deserved better as a friend. I wish I could have said goodbye. I wish I had been good enough to catch the girl or to prove myself, but now you probably shouldn’t even care.” He began drifting off, feeling the rhythm of the snowflakes around him, feeling them settle on his hair and his dirty cloak.
Dimly, as he dozed, he could hear footsteps through the snow. Any other Hallowoods denizen would know to be on alert, but Olivier was exhausted. He was exhausted as he had been that night, the first at the library.
He just wanted to sleep.
He felt himself list sideways out of the tree, falling the short distance downwards. His eyes opened, but he didn’t have the energy to do much. He saw a familiar girl with warm brown skin and a sweater, though he couldn’t place her. There was a spectral animal beside her. “I’m not a fan of dogs, Olivier thought as they faded. Before their vision completely went out, they heard another set of footsteps, and they heard the girl above them call out to someone.
When he next awoke, the girl and her dog were next to him. He was in a bed, and there was a blazing fire. His cloak was gone, but he felt warmer. He let out a small noise of pain, feeling even more sore than he had. The girl wade hushed “shhh” noises at him, checking his temperature before gently helping him sit up. She passed him a bowl of hot soup, which he idly picked at. When she glared at him gently, he sipped some of it, enjoying the warmth but wondering what would be next.
What would she demand of him? Information? Power? He had both, and couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Olivier,” she said, quietly. “Are you feeling all right?”
Olivier, knowing the answer to this question, nodded gently. He wasn’t feeling all right, but people never asked to make sure he was actually all right. Clara met his eyes, and he felt like his soul was being searched. “I don’t think you are. Know that you’re going to be safe here. We just want you to be okay.”
Olivier doubted her. People rarely actually wanted that. He knew that Friday meant things like that when she said it, but Friday wasn’t here. Friday was at Downing Hill, doing better things. As he drifted back off to sleep, he could feel the warmth of the blanket and quilt tucked back over him.
When he woke next, the spectral dog was still sitting there. Its tail thumped against the floor, beating a quick pattern. It didn’t growl at him, but seemed to beckon to him as he walked into another room of the small area. It was a kitchen, and Clara was preparing a mug of tea for herself. Olivier stopped short though, because this clearly wasn’t actually happening. He was still asleep, or more likely, he was still on the forest floor, covered in snow.
Friday sat at a table, many heavy tomes of books that Olivier recognized from Solomon’s house in front of her. She held her coffee, with the typical amount of cream and sugar inside. She looked up as a floorboard creaked, and Olivier silently waved gently. He was ready to feel her morph into a hideous creature, to scream that he had ruined things, and that she had come back for her gift, and that he hadn’t done enough.
He wasn’t, however, expecting her to slam into him with such a tight hug that he could swear his ribs were cracking again. In a parallel to the time he had hugged her, she seemed at a loss for words, settling for just holding him. They stood like that in the kitchen for a long time, long enough that he could finally realize that it wasn’t a dream.
The first words she managed to get out past her tears were “you couldn’t have said goodbye? Let me know?”
“I’m sorry” he replied, dumbfounded. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. And I was banished and-”
She squeezed harder than Olivier thought possible, and let go gently. “I was worried about you! I was honestly relieved that we found you, even if you were a mess. You’re not dead, but I’m here with you, and I get to see your blue hair and hear your jokes again. I still have you and that's enough.”
This time, Olivier was the one to hug Friday. He held on tight and wanted to never let go.
Olivier Song is just about to turn 20 years old when they walk up to the Scoutpost.
For the first time, they don’t think about the merit they could gain by torching the place. They don’t think about redeeming themself. Well, they do, but they dismiss the thoughts. Friday is here, and they feel warm. They have Clara, who is kind and makes good jokes and teaches them to play with dogs. And, oddly enough, they have Riot, who is full of anger, flame, and passion that would allow her many opportunities at the library, but cares strongly and quickly for the people she loves. She had found Clara in the woods as they were making a daily trek for supplies, and despite her mistrust, she was beginning to understand Olivier.
They understood her mistrust. They didn’t judge it. But slowly, the two were coming to understand each other, as two broken people in these woods. As a show of goodwill, they had mended Riot’s bat, and made apologies, and slowly, their little unit had grown close.
As the four approached the Scoutpost, Olivier felt the sudden urge to stop, to run back to the safety and power of the library. If the people there didn’t love them the way they were loved by their family, at least they could expect some form of security at the library. They felt their head begin to buzz with possibilities, with images of themself being thrown out of the Scoutpost, with them going back to the library and getting struck down. They carried the tomes of books. Would they be enough for the library right now? They couldn’t fathom hurting the people around them, but the books…
Friday seemed to notice their hesitance, and motioned to Clara. All three turned to look at Olivier, who was trembling slightly, their eyes glazed. Friday took their arm gently, and said “it’ll be all right, Olivier. We’re coming with you, wherever you go. It’ll all turn out all right.”
It didn’t seem to fit, or to feel right, but for the moment, Olivier decided to give Friday the trust she deserved. Even if they were to be thrown out of the Scoutpost, they would not be without a family.
They had that now, and would not lose it.
Olivier Song is 21 when the Scoutpost begins planning to storm the library. To make a mission there. To go for books, and for people. She feels a sense of grim determination as she helps them plan, but does not herself feel burdened. She plans with her friends, with her family, with the boy tied to a piece of a harp she had seen, now in a sweater, with the stitched-up revenant who she apologized endlessly to, to the two women that ran the Scoutpost, one of whom gifted her a sweater with clouds drifting across it. With these people gathered, she musters her strength and courage.
She cannot fix the damage done to her.
She cannot get the years of her life spent miserable and overworked back.
She cannot undo her own actions against people in this room.
But she can help others. She can help them find family and community, and she plans to with the help of the people she loves.