Chapter Text
Heavy rains began today. They were quite rare, especially by the standards of the climate in which their village was located – usually the residents here try to hide from the drying heat, run to the sea to cool off and buy inflatable pools at the market. Small ones.
During summers like this, Khaslana and Cyrene would chop the dried branches of their once magnificent trees to keep the fire burning at night, while their parents worked in the fields. It was a good thing when the summer season caught only a few branches by surprise, and not entire trees. None of the children today had ever witnessed the latter, but every summer the adults couldn't help but bring up, for the hundredth time, the story of the year they had to cut down one tree after another, spending hours clearing away the fallen, dried leaves. That year, on the third day of the month of Everday, people formed a circle around Oronyx, as huge as everyone's fear of the disaster that could befall their village. A severe drought was dangerous; a great fire would be catastrophic.
And Oronyx, of course, heard Their residents.
Heavy rains were rare, but when they happened, they washed the lands tired from the heat, releasing all their dehydration and fatigue through steam. The days like this were special because they allowed everyone and everything to rest, and after that, new work awaited them: clearing flooded porches from water; climbing onto the roof to check the performance of the drainage pipes that usually stood unused.
Cyrene inhaled, drawing the curtains to shield herself from the sad gray sky and the large raindrops beating on the glass. In fact, she really liked heavy rains. Unusually dark stories came to mind during them, she dreamt of serious images and felt the absolute freedom to experiment with genres beyond her creative horizon. On such days, she drew gray and somewhat lonely pictures, delving into the inner world of her favorite heroes, ignoring the outer world with its landscapes and words. Lady Tribios had long ago given her a definition of this state of mind - melancholy. And there was a lot of love in melancholy as well, and therefore she still smiled dreamily, turning to the side to her brother hiding under the blanket from the thunderstorm and lightning.
In such weather, he, too, was seized by melancholy, but Khaslana's love was immediately becoming a sad and formless weight. Within it, there were no grey hues nor paragraphs of reflection; he simply fell asleep, surrendering not to a gentle languor that might have protected him from the weather-induced malaise, but to a kind of personal, burdensome helplessness that weighed on him alone.
The edge of their shared album, full of epics, which Cyrene had been unable to find all morning, peeked out from under his pillow. If one looked closely, they could see words written hastily in red pencil, not in neat letters: "The Tragedy of the Prince Crowned in Blood."
And no matter how much the girl wanted to set off on a journey full of inspiration with her brother today, she did not want to interrupt his personal attempts to express some of the stories on paper. Besides, it was clear that her younger brother was in no hurry to share. This epic was definitely not for the two of them anymore.
“Don't die out of loneliness, Khas,” Cyrene whispered, adjusting her brother's blanket, “If anything happens, parents are in the next room. I'll be back!”
Khaslana silently turned to his sister in response. Plain blue eyes stuck out from the blanket, it couldn't help but cause a slightly guilty smile on Cyrene's face – even after such a request, she still couldn't sit at home silently. After kissing her brother, who had fallen ill with sadness, on the forehead, Cyrene quickly pulled on her white socks and the trousers she had recently bought at the market, swiftly said goodbye to her parents, and – throwing on her brother's windbreaker and a pair of rubber boots – stepped out into the downpour.
When she was still a child, her parents hadn't let her out this easily, but now it seemed to her that these outings were almost the only way to be sure that the adults trusted her. She wouldn't get her things dirty because she treated all clothing with care; even the boots specifically made for puddles and mud were returned clean under the roof of their house. She wouldn't get lost because it was impossible to get lost in Aedes Elysiae, even beyond its borders. She wouldn't get sick because, even if she lingered in the rainy cold longer than she should, she had learned to wash down her dinner with a pill to prevent any kind of cold. And so, no matter how much her mother saw her off with a displeased look at the door, she never voiced any objections. She trusted her.
Besides, Cyrene really hoped to meet something interesting and unusual today. Someone new. Judging by the events of the last few days, she was beginning to think that in order to make new acquaintances, it was enough to just go forward, go forward and believe.
The sight of the empty village made her feel uneasy, the lack of people on the streets reminded her of a nightmare she had had, yet this time everything around her was not shrouded in fire, but in puddles beginning to form on the white stone. Cyrene reached the statue of Oronyx, thoughtfully peering at the statue's missing face. In her dream, she was sure, it had her eyes and her pretty round cheeks. Cyrene smiled, folded her hands in a prayerful gesture, and began to read one of her favorite prayers under her breath. The Villager`s Prayer.
And after she opened her eyes, her first rainy adventure awaited her.
Next to her stood a girl her height, dressed from head to toe and frozen in exactly the same pose, with a grateful smile on her lips.
“Hyacinthia,” Cyrene said happily, catching herself once again looking at the neat little ponytails, “Do you also like to walk in the rain?”
“Of course! Any weather given by Aquila is good weather!”
“Hmm,” The girl shifted from foot to foot, took the stranger's hands in hers and said with a wide smile, “What an optimist you are, I like you! We will definitely be friends!~ You are not at all like Anaxagoras, although you are his student.”
“To be honest…” Hyacine looked down at the ground, “I don't understand this man at all. According to Lady Aglaea, he was easier and less boring back in the day. Don't get me wrong, I really like the Professor, it's just…”
“You`d love to know his past-self, right?”
Cyrene nodded several times, noting to herself that she had just discovered the third form of melancholy, which manifested itself as a longing for someone one had never known.
“Out of curiosity,” The girl giggled lightly, “Maybe if I had someone to compare him to, I could understand him better… all this rejection of faith, his strictness towards himself…”
“But could you continue to consider him Professor after that? We had no idea that Lady Tribios was one of the scientists of the Grove of Epiphany. She tells us so little, but now I understand the reason behind this – adults often keep secrets about themselves from those they want to teach something. This is the only way their lessons remain memorable. They always want to remain reliable adults in our eyes, and for this reason they try to seem like someone without weaknesses. It`s their way of caring.”
Hyacinthia just smiled silently. She had obviously thought about this before, and felt relieved that someone had spoken her own thoughts out loud. And so the two sweet girls found each other in the downpour, starting to share all sorts of stories with each other without stopping. Hyacinthia began to tell myths about Aquila that Cyrene had never heard before, about the honorable skyfolk and why Cyrene could never see the stars in photos of Okhema. Cyrene told all about the agriculture of Aedes Elysiae, noticing the admiring smile on her new friend's face – as if only more light had been added to the magical sparkle in her eyes, so greatly was she enchanted by the scale on which this place relied on the well-being of the sky cover.
As it turned out, they both love the color pink, homemade sweet cakes, and all the cutest things. Cyrene wondered if the chimeras running along the paths of the Groves were just as cute, and then set herself a new goal – to show her new friend the local fairies. Surely her brother wouldn't be too offended if another kind companion found their secret place?
Cyrene couldn't help but laugh, finding both similarities and differences between the Dryad he had written with Khaslana and Hyacinthia, who had told her so many new stories. Perhaps she wasn't as fabulous and impossible, but her love for the world was as sacrificial and unquestioning as that of the heroine of their naive tale.
“I got the idea of what the Professor is doing here, but why did you come here?”
“ Me?” The girl thought, confused. “To be honest, I need to work on my practical training, I'm studying medicine! And I thought that I'd find a hospital here, but it seems that Aedes Elysiae…”
“Nobody ever gets sick here!”
“Yeah... Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that everyone here is healthy and no incidents happen! It's just…”
“Everything is fine! You help people, right?”
“Everyone in my family does! And I’m very, very proud of it and I try very hard myself. But I don’t really have any practice which is bad for my education… In any case, we came here specifically for Anaxa.”
“You know, my brother thought you were his daughter.”
“D-daughter?” Hyacine stopped, looking at Cyrene with wide eyes of surprise, "He`s not this older than me...”
“Are you thirty..?”
“It`s him who`s not forty,” Hyacine laughed loudly, “It’s so funny! Everyone sees him as an old man! You know, the scientists of the Groves thought that I’m his daughter as well, even though I just applied for the position of his main assistant… To be fair, that happened for the first time in his entire career too… Even Aglaea once called me for a “serious conversation,” she looked so nervous then, I still find it funny…”
“Wait, it wasn't a joke about them being married in the past?”
“It wasn't.”
Hyacine adjusted the hood of her raincoat, silently staring at the dead end of what had seemed like an endless path until recently. Cyrene silently took her friend by the elbow to redirect her along the uncleared path, to new adventures.
“To be honest, it always seemed to me that they spent most of their time in loud quarrels and showdowns rather than in happiness…”
“Oh…”
“There were always quarrels around the Professor. He loves conflicts. He loves to prove, to question, to challenge to a duel…”
“Challenge to a duel?” Cyrene giggled, “What do you mean?”
“A verbal ones. I don't know why he calls debates duels. So stupid... all this pathos…”
“And yet you still choose to be there for him!” Cyrene gently pinched her friend's hand, “And you know... I always dreamed of being a student at the Grove of Epiphany too…”
Hyacine opened her mouth, but she decided to keep everything she wanted to say to herself at the last moment. There was no awkward silence, the topic simply went in a completely different direction. Cyrene knew exactly why it was hard to answer her, a village dreamer, something about her dreams of a prestigious Temple of Sciences, but at the same time she did not want to be upset with the Dryad with a gentle voice and understanding eyes.
So, she will simply continue to wait. After all, Oronyx encourages all who wait and keep faith within themselves.
After some time, busy with conversations and gossip, the girls came out to a two-story Gothic house, standing away from all possible paths and other houses. Cyrene's heart beat tremblingly in her chest – never in her entire life and the random routes she had laid out had she seen this house. And if she had seen something familiar to it, it was in an abandoned state. Now, before her, almost a palace towered. Luxurious black gates, fruit trees flaunting behind them and a flower garden, all planted with beauty that Cyrene had never seen in her life. Purple roses, pink lilies, black petals of flowers unfamiliar to her.
Hyacine took a step back, involuntarily pulling Cyrene along with her. But the other only smiled encouragingly. It seemed to her that she would find something much more valuable in this house than just an adventure and a new story. Perhaps the love itself? A sweet princess locked there alone, that would give Cyrene all her patient years of waiting and hoping.
And she walked forward, tightly squeezing Hyacine's hand in hers, with a confidence as if nothing less than the will of the Titan himself awaited her within.
The gates were open, which only made Hyacine more wary. On the other hand, what if it was opened on purpose, by someone who needed help? In that case, she was obliged to help, as a true healer. No matter how she tried to persuade herself, she understood from her friend’s firm determination that there would be no way back. Cyrene was not at all surprised by the doors open for her. If fate itself had predetermined her presence here, then so be it.
The door swung open with a soft sound, immediately followed by the quiet sound of wheels.
“Cas..?”
A pale girl their age, with neatly styled short hair and a beautiful crown of flowers, came to them in a wheelchair. She was wearing a nightgown reminiscent of a flower garden, and on her shoulders sat a golden butterfly, which also turned its gaze to the unexpected guests. Cyrene smiled enchantedly, feeling the warmth of a wish come true spreading throughout her body. She had found it – the love.
Hyacine covered her mouth with her hands so that no one would hear her frightened breath. The stranger did not let out a sound, as if she too expected to see guests on her doorstep. She only nodded in greeting, lingering her gaze on Cyrene and giving her a fleeting smile. None of them fully understood what exactly was happening now – but each of them was pleased in their own way.
“Cas, we have guests…” The stranger said softly, very quietly, even if she was addressing someone, it was unlikely that anyone could hear her except the girls standing opposite her. She slowly turned the wheels to the right, disappearing into the next room without any unnecessary comments.
“Polyxia, what... Oh!”
An equally pale and timid girl in a bright T-shirt with a character drawn on it and panties appeared from the second floor stairwell. Cyrene and Hyacine heard only a short, disappointed squeal, noticing a sharp movement on the second floor.
“It’s still impolite to burst into someone else’s house without warning,” Hyacine noted bashfully, “I’m sorry!.. We’ll leave now, forgive us for…”
The mysterious girl returned, riding up to the guests with a teapot and two cups in her hands. She did not say a word, only extended the fragile porcelain dishes with delicate patterns to the guests. And Cyrene accepted the cup, bowing low to the stranger, imagining herself a part of old European balls. A slight blush and a gesture inviting them, apparently, to the kitchen.
Never before had Cyrene imagined that so few words would be needed to meet Love herself, that there would be no fireworks, no thousand invited guests – the King’s confidants. That in such a meeting there would be almost no sound, except for the accepting and grateful silence.
“Thank you very much!” Hyacine took the cup shyly, looking back at Cyrene, and followed her into the kitchen.
And while the gentle stranger poured black tea with a light aroma of fragrant herbs into their cups, Cyrene and Hyacine greedily examined the space around them. It was like in a museum – all the furniture here was not very outstanding, but clearly quite expensive. It was clearly cared for, and each color here matched the household appliances and dishes, creating not just a room, but a real design project. Cyrene had only seen this in advertisements for Okhema's furniture stores, which she herself had never been to.
“Excuse me!” The second stranger, now dressed in a long black dress, timidly approached the kitchen, “I… we rarely have guests…”
“We don't have guests at all,” The Love herself took a sip of tea in a casual manner, “We're afraid... the house is too old and stands out. But we always leave the gates open. We're expecting guests.”
“I knew it!” Cyrene's voice stood out strongly compared to the quiet and moderate voices of the girls living here, “I knew that we needed to come to you! You are so sweet, so beautiful! This is the best day of my life, he-he~”
“Oh…” Hyacinthia hid behind her cup, drinking all the tea in one gulp due to embarrassment and the awkwardness of the situation.
“What a miracle,” The short-haired girl gave her guest another smile, “So it was worth it after all… My name is Polyxia. This is my sister, my beloved Cas…”
“Castorice,” the other girl blushed, “We are twins…”
And now it was actually noticeable – the similar shyness in their gaze, the unusual purple hair, the somewhat muffled, as if not from here, voice – they really were identical. And also their cute elf ears...
Only the personalities were different, and Cyrene noticed it already – Polyxia's timidity was completely different from Castorice's bashful embarrassment. She was like a royal blood, everything about her spoke of the ethics and proper manners of real ladies. Everything about her was about love.
“Cas rarely comes here,” Polyxia began slowly, “Only when she needs to meet deadlines set by the editorial office... because it's quiet here and there are no distractions. If she doesn't download cartoons to her laptop, that's it…”
“Editorial office?” Hyacine clarified, “Are you a writer?”
“I-I…” A blush once again appeared on Castorice’s pale cheeks, “I am a writer, yes, but…”
“You’re so embarrassed…” Polyxia laughed briefly, “As if you are publishing your cheap novels from childhood…”
“Polyxia,” The girl said in confusion, resignedly placing her hands on the table and not saying another word.
“You remind me of me and my brother!” Cyrene shared, taking a lollipop from the white crystal vase on the table, “I like to embarrass him too. Most often it happens by accident, but it's funny every time... Cas!” Castorice's right hand twitched involuntarily, “You shouldn't be ashamed of what you write! I dream of being published as well... I'd publish everything I do, just like that!”
“Thank you…” Castorice thanked shyly, unable to get used to the fact that someone other than her sister called her by this form of her name, “And you are… What's your name?”
“Hyacinthia!.. Excuse me, once again... where have my manners gone?..”
“He-he,” Cyrene winked at her friend, hinting that she was the one to blame for this, first and foremost, “And my name is Cyrene.”
“Such cute names…”
“Can you write a story for us, Cas?” Cyrene clapped her hands, taking another lollipop from the bowl.
“W-what..?”
“About the Professor and a Fashion Designer! We will describe their story to you! I am so interested to see how other people write! I will learn from the professional herself! Pretty please?”
Hyacine inhaled, covering her face with her palms. Cyrene only smiled at this gesture – if her new friend dreamed of getting to know the Professor from the past, then she's only happy to let her have such an opportunity at least on paper. And the professional writer in front of them would clearly be able to write this story in the most plausible way.
It was really hard to persuade Castorice. But not impossible – a few soft words from Polyxia and a special look from Cyrene, which she actively practiced when she broke something from the dishes at home, were enough.
So after a while there was already a blueberry pie on the table, and the tea was already brewing for the third time – Castorice was silently writing word after word on her pink laptop, covered with dozens of different bright stickers. Cyrene looked at the text being born before her eyes, and at the unfamiliar faces of the most diverse characters. She didn’t know any of them, but she kept thinking, wouldn’t it be impudent to ask Castorice for stickers as well? In a good way, she should have paid her with money – after all, she just showed up on the doorstep of the girls’ house and had the impudence to ask an obviously famous author for a story about people she didn’t know, for free. Castorice’s books were probably expensive…
Unfortunately, Cyrene didn't have a notepad or a notebook with her, and there was no other paper in the house. After all, Castorice had such a good, almost new laptop for writing, and Polyxia, it seemed, wasn't very interested in creativity.
But there was no need for notes, Cyrene remembered every hint and comment on what was happening in the text of a real writer, she wanted to run home right now and try everything that Castorice was so generously sharing with her now. The secrets of creating a good story – and all that in front of her – Cyrene could not dream of more. At the same time, her gaze studied every detail of her Love's appearance, and she was not regretting that she didn't even have a camera with her. She could memorize the portrait of her Love without any effort. Every creator needs their own Muse, and Cyrene felt doubly victorious.
Interested in the resulting text, Hyacine, who, of course, was in no hurry to admit it, asked Castorice to print the text.
“Two copies,” smiled Cyrene, taking Hyacine’s hand and showing the victory sign with her other hand, “We’ll be back tomorrow!”
The rain had long since stopped. It was getting dark, but the two girls who had come out of the real castle did not care. They discussed the text they had written and giggled at some of the lines. Before leaving, Cyrene confessed to Polyxia that she would come back here again and again to fill her entire album with portraits of her new Muse. This brought a gentle smile and light laughter to the girl's face.
Cyrene has a lot of things to do when she gets home.
The howling of the hyenas nearby, however, was already beginning to confuse the girls – Cyrene had forgotten that they came running here from time to time, and Hyacine had never seen them in person. This made their steps more hasty, their gossip shorter, and their perusal of the text on the sheets of paper in front of them more superficial.
“Not everyone can boast of such fearlessness, Cyrene,” said Hyacine as she said goodbye, blowing a kiss to her new friend.
“See you tomorrow, cutie!~”
Cyrene waved to her friend, spending a few more minutes looking at the statue of Oronyx, still standing in the same pose. The caring moonlight fell on it, and right now, for some reason, Cyrene felt as if she had been blessed.