The room was mostly silent, save for the sound of soft charcoal making contact with and slowly making its way across a thick, canvas-like paper. There was only one light in this room: a small lamp which hung precariously from a makeshift holder fashioned from what appeared to be cotton string nailed to the ceiling. The lamp swayed gently, spurred on by a breeze which no doubt came from the drafty windows in other parts of this Pokemon’s house. Charcoal does not move by itself, though, and a lamp certainly has no business in lighting an unoccupied room. A creature existed here; a charcoal enabler who went by the alias of Palette.
The sounds stopped. Palette set the braid of charcoal down, stood up, and backed up a bit from her work in order to examine it for obvious flaws. The finer inspection would have to come later, as it was rather dark outside and she couldn’t help but feel a bit tired. Seemingly satisfied with her progress for the night, she took the piece off of the stand and leaned it against the wall. After making sure all of her supplies for the day were put back well within their places, she set off outside the room and up the flight of stairs to her bedroom. She walked outside into the main hallway, closing the door behind her.
Her stomach growled. It had been quite some time since she’d last eaten; drawing took most of her concentration, and, unfortunately, hunger was almost never enough to break it. Not that it would have mattered if it had, anyway. She had very little food stored away and couldn’t yet afford to buy more; she hadn’t been able to find any buyers recently for her artwork and as a result had a good old case of “down-on-your-luck” syndrome. Regardless, she decided to head off to her kitchen to see if she had anything that qualified as edible before she retired.
She was about halfway down the hall when she heard something. A very faint, very slow sound made itself known to her as she passed the open door on her left. She halted and poked her nose inside the unlit room and attempted to sniff out the source of the sound. Nothing. Well, nothing that she could smell, anyway; this room was filled with oil paints and various thinning agents for said materials and it somewhat hampered her ability to discern anything. She advanced further into the room once she was reasonably sure the sound wasn’t coming from inside, but outside near her window. She liked to keep the window open all the time in order to prevent the fumes from her paints making her dizzy in this room, but something about the sound put her in a state of unease, even if it was no longer present.
She closed the window, and, for good measure, locked it. Pressing her face close to the glass to peer outside as best she could, she gazed outside. She could spot nothing moving save for the gentle swaying of trees and grass in the distance, undoubtedly caused by the same breeze that made the basement drafty earlier. Drawing the curtains around the window closed, she took one last peek through the gap they left near the middle of the window.
Something outside near her window moved. She couldn’t get a good look at it, but it scared her.
First excerpt from
's story about Palette, taking place the evening after Kyurem arrives in the village.