Mr. Oliver Tanner grew up among a band of orphans who traversed the lower ring. They were close, and all good friends, however to him they were never quite considered family. As the years passed by the young group faded apart and Oliver found himself suffocating under a dismal fog of loneliness. He began to wonder why he was there, and to what purpose did he serve. He was merely another piece of street trash in the lower waste of a godforsaken city. To this end he discovered that he had a passion for art.
He decided that if he was to escape the life that had been given to him, he would have to grow in both mind and soul; so he became an art thief. Oliver spent his following days performing heists in the upper ring, stealing pieces of art from some of Warren City’s more esteemed residents, and nabbing one of two books along the way. But it was during one of these heists that Oliver Tanner encountered a beautiful young lady named Sylvia Parlow. He had just stolen a painting of Warren City’s eastern harbour – cutting the canvas out of the frame with a knife – and he was tip-toing down the hallway when he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She sat upon her bed facing the far window, and she was humming the sweetest of melodies while combing her soft long hair. If Oliver wasn’t so timid he may have introduced himself – given that he wasn’t a stranger trespassing on her home.
But fortune favoured Oliver, for one day he rested under a tree in a park on the border between the lower and upper ring, and with a smile on his face he began to read a collection of short stories that he had taken from the home of Miss Sylvia Parlow. The book was titled: Tales of the Knights of Somersteia. It just so happened that Miss Sylvia frequented that same park often. As she waltzed by she saw Oliver Tanner sitting under the tree and she suddenly took a mild interest in him – he had made a habit of presenting himself more like the members of the upper ring. Perhaps she was more intrigued by his book, and when she approached him she said, “Oh my, is that Nights of Somersteia? I have a copy just like it back home. Do you enjoy tales of fantasy?”
Elsie found it funny that this entire romantic tale began with another book of tales. On the edge of his world and hers, they spent several hours together speaking of all kinds of things. Their first conversation revolved greatly around the little book in Oliver’s hands. Afterwards, Sylvia began to speak a little of her family, while Oliver was most reluctant to make any mention of his. She also informed him that her father was currently furious due to one of his most favourite paintings having been burgled; Oliver was reluctant to stay on that topic too.
More days drifted subtly by and Oliver Tanner began to experience much and more of the life of the upper ring. With every heist he grew in skill and wisdom, and he found himself thinking more often of that wonderful woman he had met in the park. He noticed subtle differences in their speech and dress, and their in-depth code of manners. He spent more time reading, too, and learning all there was about Pearl Isle and the rest of the world.
Until one blue night he found himself on one of his usual heists, sneaking about the home of a wealthy fellow who he observed purchase a painting at an auction. He followed the man home and waited for his opportunity. The man had a nice home, but Oliver was awestruck by this beautiful display of red roses upon the window seal upstairs – he had never seen anything so fair, other than the Lady Sylvia whom the roses reminded him of. As well as the painting, Oliver Tanner brought home one of the roses that night, hoping he would encounter the lovely Sylvia at the park again. He was dismayed the next day to learn that the roses had withered and died, and were no longer beautiful. Tanner mourned for them, and felt that it was his fault that such a beautiful thing was no longer alive.
His spirits were lifted when, coming to the same park later that day, he found Sylvia sitting quietly upon a bench and feeding breadcrumbs to a squabbling flock of pigeons. “May I sit with you,” he asked, and there they talked again of many things. In particular, Sylvia mentioned that her father’s beloved painting was miraculously returned to them, and Oliver smiled just to see the joy in her eyes and the brightness of her own smile. Tanner then explained to her that he had recently taken up the art of origami, and he presented to her a red and green rose folded from sheets of paper – and in his eyes it was twice as beautiful as the one he had stolen. “No matter where you are in the world, this rose, such as your beauty, will always prevail.”
Miss Sylvia Parlow was flattered by the gesture, and she accepted it joyously, however she was at that moment a little suspicious of Mr. Oliver Tanner, and so she pressed him to disclose exactly who he was. “Nothing ever grows in the lower ring, does it?”
Oliver became remorseful. “I am afraid that life is a rare commodity among a world with no culture. The people here only care to survive, but I desire to live, in fact, I fight for it.”
“Was it you who stole my father’s painting?” she asked, in a surprisingly polite manner. He did not grace her with an answer, but she could read the shame in his eyes. “You returned the painting and we are grateful for that, so I will not tell my father about you. However, I believe it is best if we do not meet again.” She left him then feeling stupid and heartbroken, and more or less drastically wounded.
Oliver Tanner decided then that Miss Sylvia was nothing more than a childish dream, however the more he tried to let her go, the more he yearned to be with her. The thought of her plagued his mind and kept him from sleeping and he remained long into the night devising some strategy to get her back.
A few days had gone by and Oliver Tanner traversed through the blue haze once again into the upper ring, however this time he did not desire to commit a heist of any kind. From an adjacent rooftop he waited under the night sky and looked down into the home of Sylvia Parlow; in his hands he held gently a paper rose.
Being a great lover of all things beautiful, and an avid reader now of romantic literature, Oliver Tanner embraced the unbeatable truth that Sylvia had become the defining aspect of his very existence. He explained to Elsie that he would look at her and see poetry – this profound and undefinable beauty that was so compelling, and so remarkably inspiring. He believed it was the little things; a glimmer in her eyes every now and then, a certain tone in her voice when she spoke, and even the very way that she walked. And of course there was her smile; God he loved her smile. There was something about it that that he couldn’t seem to deny, and for the first time in his life, it made him feel warm.
He felt close to her, and yet she was so far away. He found that it was the easiest thing in the world to dream of her, to bring her to life in every new form of art he learned, specifically poetry. Put simply, he wanted to be with her. He wanted nothing more than to slow dance with her under the moon; the see the cold air of the night kiss her cheeks, and watch the twilight paint her eyes with small splashes of azure, and in that small eternity of compassion witness chaos stilled by silence.
The next day he mustered the courage to visit her by climbing the tree by her window, and part of her was delighted to see him again. But there were still many things that tore them apart – wealth was chief among them. “Then I will become wealthy,” Oliver decided.
However Sylvia claimed that it would not be enough. “I do not care that you are a thief, Oliver, in fact, I am glad for it. You are an amazing person.”
“Then what must I do to win your love?”
And so, dreading that this love would undo her, she deemed to give him an impossible task. She told him with a smile that she’d love him if he could only steal her the stars from the night sky. He returned after a few days and extended his hand to her, pouring a fistful of diamonds into her open palms, and returning her smile as he said, “I couldn’t steal you the stars, my love, but these are pretty damn close.”
After such a gesture, Sylvia could no longer deny that she was in love with Oliver Tanner, and she didn’t give a damn about the consequences. Upon meeting again a week later, she declared that at heart she cared little for her home and she desired to escape it all, only to be with the one who loved her most. But of course, there were always complications.
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