The sky was overcast. It had just stopped raining, the moisture in the air still thick and smelled of upturned earth. Right on time for Arya to get to work.

She fixed the bonnet thrown over her bundled up hair, making sure the lace was tied nicely under her chin. The wind could rise up any time, tear her hat off her head, and expose the wild mane of bright red hair tucked underneath. People would stare. They always do at the smallest whiff of her hair.

Her footsteps clacked against thousands of others in the busy roads of Aldermere this early hour in Qetrevon. It was the first working day of the week so there was still a bounce on the steps of some people as they tore along the cobbled roads.

Arya pursed her lips, wrapping her overcoat tighter than the corset she wore around her waist. Her buckled, leather shoes splashed over a small puddle of muddy rainwater, almost throwing her off-balance. She righted herself on time.

She, however, failed to drive away the attention of a middle-aged man reading the morning prints from the nearby coffee shop. He stared at her like he knew what was going on in her soul. She gave him a quick nod and went on her way. Thankfully, she felt the piercing tack vanish from the back of her neck.

The complexes of flats flanking the streets dwarfed her as she walked past them. Shops slotted on the ground floor clustered in their busy routines. She lost count of how many workers had been polishing their glass front windows since she left her flat and how many of them had flitted about in their fancy uniforms carrying boxes and baskets.

It was a busy morning, one telling Arya to hurry up so she could be the same.

A series of loud clunks came from behind her. She turned just in time to glimpse a wirebus edging from the bend and coming up towards the single shed a few meters ahead of her. She quickened her strides, the wedge heels of her shoes tapping away. Let her hope there weren't any more sneaky potholes waiting for her.

She hopped into the shed's raised platform just as the wirebus skidded to a stop. The wires snaking through the sky whined and shook. Then, with a hiss, the mechanical doors slid open and a new mass of bodies fanned out.

Her lips curled into themselves as she bounced on the balls of her feet, waiting for the last of the passengers to trickle out of this present car. When the last of them, an elderly woman armed with a cane and a posh, intricately-designed bag, stepped onto the platform, Arya bolted towards the car with a quick, purposeful stride.

Delight swirled in her gut when she saw her favorite seat unoccupied. She dashed towards it and settled it with a fervor nobody else understood but her. All of the wirebuses have this seat, one facing the widest window in the car and was slotted right next to the door. There was no other seat situated opposite it, giving her an unobstructed view of the flitting cityscape. It was even more entertaining to watch when the wirebus was already rolling over its tracks, tearing through the heart of Aldermere.

More people streamed inside the car she was in. There were at least three cars per wirebus but it was always the middle one becoming packed. If she had to guess, it was probably because people were conditioned to think that getting inside from the shed was the sophisticated way to go and the middle one was what happened to stop in front of it.

As expected, the car was soon filled to the brim. Just as a wiry gentleman dressed in coattails, a top hat, and pinstripe trousers ducked inside, the grated doors started hissing to a close. Arya eyed the mechanism composed of copper gears and a criss-cross of slider cranks whizz across the open space between the wirebus's metal walls, clapping shut with a final click.

Then, the wirebus began moving.

At first, it was characterized by weird jumbling motion against Arya's seat but as the wirebus eased into its speed and journey more, it changed into a faint humming underneath her soles. Silence filled the inside of the car, the meager bulb of light slotted at the center of the ceiling flickering on and off depending on the speed of the wirebus. The filaments crackled, providing Arya the needed distraction from the muddled expanse of faces and colorful clothes.

She crossed her feet at the ankles, pressing the tip of her shoes against the car's rubber padding. All traces of caring vanished at the nagging voice at the back of her head saying she'd ruin the leather of her shoes once more if she sat like that. Let them rub off and vanish into small particles. It was the last of her concerns.

Then again, poor Cornelia Allridge has to figure out where to buy Arya another pair if that happens eventually. Her aunt insisted Arya couldn't go to work with busted shoes. It seemed to slip Cornelia's mind that Arya was a grown woman and therefore could take care of herself. Shoes and showing up to work with a few scratches on them shouldn't be that big of an issue.

A passing shadow caught her eyes. She stared out of the clear, glass window to find the expansive gardens, the crawling traffic of carriages and people, and the jutting spires of the Civil Hall. The wirebus curved around it as the tracks laid on the ground required, giving Arya a good look at the grand, white-washed building sitting at the center of society.

She bit her lip knowing her workplace was just a few minutes away. When they cleared past the tall gates and walls surrounding the Civil Hall, the road gave way to a small stretch of arable land that was instead used as a park.

Well-dressed children walked to and fro the green landscape, barely looking at the tall trees swaying with the early morning breezes. Nobles, with their raised chins and elegant strides, trawled past, absorbed into either fits of giggles or intense conversations filled with frowns.

Wasn't this called Halden Park? Arya couldn't care less. She had been in Aldermere for half her life but it still takes her a while to remember what this or that place was called. All that mattered was the wirebus she took to work said "Postal Quarters" and the one she took to go home said "Beironet Complex".

A bell dinged from the distance, jarring Arya back to the point of her journey. She gripped the strap of the messenger bag slung over her shoulder and shot up. The cushion of her seat slowly inflated in the absence of her weight. She swung in front of the door and waited for the wirebus to skid to a stop. By habit, she reached out and wrapped her fingers against the poles holding the baggage racks up as the wirebus's rapid deceleration pushed her sideways.

Then, with its characteristic whine, the grated door slid open once more. Another shed awaited Arya and beyond it was the Postal Quarters.

She shifted the bulk of her bag in front of her, letting it bounce against her leg as she walked. It contained nothing but a canister of water, a wrap of what's supposed to be her lunch, a spare pen, and her own bottle of ink.

She craned her neck at the building with huge glass windows stained with various colors standing over the rest of them with its ten-storey height. Metal pipes curled in and out of different chutes punched through the walls, each one whirring and whining as it deposited letter tubes to its proper destination.

The wide doors were thrown open as usual when she got to the raised patio after tackling the three, short steps leading to it. They gave way to an expansive lobby of chandeliers, tall shelves full of records and other files, and wooden countertops with intricate designs carved into them.

Employees dressed in a similar fashion as Arya stormed from the front door and disappeared into their designated stations. Most of them were women. The men in the building were tasked to either haul cart upon cart of mail or take certain boxes of files into the records room. They were also expected to be able to run errands from the Post Masters, who, by the way, also were all wrinkly, old men.

Arya departed from the straight path from the lobby as it would bring her directly into the writing area. The geometric patterns featuring shapes of beige, ecru, and burnt sienna accompanied her as she strode towards the changing rooms. After that, she was going to her cubicle where she would spend the rest of the day sorting letters.

"Ari!" a bubbly voice spread in her ears. She turned to find Europa, her only friend in the Postal Quarters and maybe her whole life, scrambling past other sorters just to catch up. "You won't believe what I got us!"

Arya rolled her eyes, her shoulders slumping. It seemed like her best friend had taken over the nonexistent job of bringing Arya to places she might or might not want to be in. She paused to let Europa reach her. When the woman stopped, she was huffing so bad she had to brace her knees with her hands. Her own messenger bag slid off her shoulders. Unlike Arya, Europa's bonnet was slung over the crook of her arm, her straight dark hair still dripping wet. Unlike Arya, her best friend was the embodiment of chaos.

"It better be good this time, Eury," Arya crossed her arms, stepping towards the wall so as to not get in everybody's way. Doors opened and closed around them, signaling the start of another work day. A glance at the clock slotted near a tall indoor lamp told her they have only a few minutes left.

"Oh, you'll love it," Europa huffed one last time before straightening up and starting their walk once more. Arya had to jog a few steps just to fall into the same stride. "I swear, this one has everything!"

They rounded the corner and came in front of the changing rooms. The door with the long, golden handle was already open so they just burst through. Metal lockers greeted them in the long hall. Some of the women who came to work dressed in casual clothes were stripped off to their undergarments, slowly putting their uniforms on.

Arya couldn't handle going to work unprepared so when she got to her designated locker, she merely had to take her overcoat off and hang it on the rack inside. Along with it were empty, wooden coat hangers. She hasn't had much stuff anyway.

Behind her, Europa had on a semblance of their uniform. She had up to the blouse and the skirt up and was now tying the ribbon against her folded collar. Arya merely flattened hers against her flat chest. Her fingers pulled at the knot of her bonnet. When she tugged it off, a sense of nakedness weighed over her shoulders.

None of the women present with them gave her a second glance. It was because they've been working together for quite a long time now. During her first day, it was a nightmare. Europa was the only one who did her best to not gape at her brightly-colored hair.

Perhaps, that's why they became friends.

"Ari! Are you listening?" Eury's voice snapped.

Arya blinked. "What?"

Eury rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're not," she said, answering her own question. "What I'm saying is that I got invitations to a new exhibit in Barnholdt this Juisevon. We need to go."

"The weekend?" Arya frowned as she swung the door of her locker shut. "Does it have any other date?"

Eury crossed her arms. "We're busy during the weekdays, remember?" she tapped her temples like it was an obvious fact Arya forgot. "Juisevon's the perfect day for this."

Arya chewed on the inside of her cheek. She would rather stay at home, curled up on the chaise with the latest fictiontale.

Together, she and Eury strode out of the changing rooms and tackled the short distance towards each of their own cubicles. "What kind of exhibit was it?" Arya asked.

Eury scratched the side of her face, her features scrunching up as if it was a difficult question. "I don't really know. I just got it from my cousin's friend's mother's acquaintance saying it's a private exhibition by a powerful noble," she said. "It's being held in Barnholdt."

Arya raised an eyebrow. The clocks' hands pointed closer to their starting hour. "The museum?" she said. "Why would it be in a museum? Besides, don't events there cost a ton?"

Instead of being troubled, Eury winked. "I got invitations, remember?" she said. "We're meant to be there so don't worry about paying anything."

The door leading to the room where Arya's cubicle was in came up. Eury snapped her fingers and pointed them at Arya just as she stepped backwards. "Oh, don't forget to dress nicely," the woman said with a manic grin. Her hair still hasn't dry and from what Arya heard, the prefect on Eury's floor hated seeing loose hair during work shifts. She's going to get reprimanded again, wasn't she?

"Just show up, will you?" Eury said. Their distance now required her to raise her voice a bit. Heads turned to them that Arya had to duck her head to avoid further scrutiny. "I'll pick you up in Halway. Be there. Seven. Adiem. Not Pondiem."

Arya blew a breath and waved her hands in Eury's direction. "Fine, fine!" she said. "Go. You're going to be late. Lowell's going to be mad at you again."

Eury's grin only grew wider. Arya shook her head. Knowing her best friend, Eury probably looked forward to the day she'd officially drive the poor prefect insane. Within a few minutes, her dark head disappeared with the mass of colors.

Arya tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirts and strode inside the room. Cornelia had been right about shoes, though. It seemed like Arya had found herself in need of a good pair, after all. Against all odds. How...quaint.

That's when the first letter tube showed up in front of her with a sweeping hiss. And thus, Arya Salcrest's day began.