Five hours later, we reach the grand, sparkling city that is the Central Inlands. It glimmers everywhere, a glimmer that I in the Outlands had never seen ; diversity. It was a goregeous, wonderful thing, rare to my eyes like a precious gem, a diamond in my eyes. Everyone was strikingly different, like a young man, about 21, sporting a red flannel shirt and a head of brown hair (shaved on either side), who was just short enough that it was noticeable. Or a young woman, around 19, with soft pink skin, a purple pixie put, a little top hat, a black feathery jacket, and slender, silvery, delicate wings, like hand-crafted ice.
I drew my identification from my pocket and saw my own fair skin, minty green hair, round face, and aviator's goggles. I ambled up to a ticket booth. Manning it was a young boy, part elf, it seemed, as his ears were slightly pointed and there was a bow strapped across his back. His face was covered in acne and his teeth stuck out rather noticeably, and his auburn bangs hung low, covering his eyes completely. He then let loose a soft snore, and I deducted that he was asleep and walked the other way.
As my back was turned, I heard someone whisper, "Pssst. Hey, you there!" I whipped around quickly. It was the boy at the ticket booth. He guestured for me to come closer. I did so. "What do you think of The Rulers?" He asked urgently. I swallowed the lump in my throat and bravely replied,"I don't care for them at all." It's impossible to read his expression, but the next thing he says is, "Let me see your identification." I hand it to him, slightly afraid. He glances at it, then does something incredibly unexpected. He tears it into what must be hundreds of little pieces and blows them into the wind, then smiles. "Welcome to the rebellion, Misty Susan O'Weilly."