Soft colours spilled onto the blank-white canvas lit alight by the oil lamp in Sister Alinde’s room. Her hand didn’t shake in the slightest, and her eyes furrowed as she stared at the product of her work. A soft, pleased breath escaped her lips as her gaze fell away, placing the brush she held to the side as she stood up.
Her usual clothes worn when working in the monastery had been hot-pressed to clear its wrinkles away, laid out on the edge of her bed to dry, and so her bright pale-blonde curls fell against her shoulders as she looked over the painting before her.
She had made no progress on her work. Sister Alinde had been too lost in thought to consider touching the brush to the canvas. When she wasn’t focused, she was prone to ruining her hard work.
‘You spend so much time trying to help everyone around you in your own way… but you don’t understand why they don’t wish you would do more…’ Sister Alinde bit at her lip as she thought. ‘Lumi… do you really not care that you’re being destroyed from the inside by the things you try to understand? Why do you have to act like the world is something you alone can carry? Where does that drive in your heart arise from…?’
More and more had she begun to worry about the magician who slept only a room away. She could carry a teasing attitude and cheer him up when he was saddened, but it was ruining her to know that she couldn’t help him with the things that truly affected him. She felt so superficial.
‘You voice your concerns, but they’re never about yourself… I wish you would stop trying to fix the world, but I know I would never be able to convince you of that. Is it all I can do to hold you tight and wish you the best?’
Sister Alinde set her paintbrush down, and picking up the robes which fell to her ankles, stepped out of her bedroom and entered the monastery’s main prayer hall. Father Benedict sat in a pew facing the simple statue of the Crown of Thorns, the Goddess of Ivy, at the edge of the hall. She took a seat beside him, and after he had finished his reverences, he looked up towards her. He had a cup of steaming tea beside him, and he took a small sip as he awaited Sister Alinde’s words, who made it clear in her mannerisms that she wanted to talk.
“Don’t you feel like Lumi is… smiling more?”
Father Benedict didn’t look over at Sister Alinde as she spoke, his face having soured in the darkness. He simply raised his cup to his lips again, taking a large gulp of the hot liquid. “I have.”
“So, what should we do about it?” Sister Alinde asked.
After he set down his cup, he responded quietly.
“Have you ever thought about leaving the church, Elise?” Father Benedict turned to look towards the statue at the end of the hall. “You’ve spent your time here because you can’t remember your past, but it doesn’t mean you have to stick with it just because it’s all you know.”
Her face lit up with abject surprise as she heard his words.
“Why would I ever think about doing such a thing?” Sister Alinde shook her head. “I’ve devoted my life to the Goddess…”
“I’m not speaking to you as a priest. I’m speaking to you as your friend.”
“Still, I enjoy my life…” She shook her head.
“But you would enjoy life with ‘him’ more, wouldn’t you?”
Sister Alinde grew blushed, and her glance furtively shot away to admire the stone wall beside her.
“As for Lumière…” Father Benedict continued, “he’s smiling now because he’s lost, and he’s desperately trying to find a way forward. The Goddess isn’t everyone’s path, and that’s why I asked you. Just like Lumière, you might one day find yourself realising you haven’t really settled down.”
Sister Alinde couldn’t think of a response, so she just sat idly beside the priest.
“Lumière’s smile is his mask. It’s the only way he can feel safe, hiding in plain sight. He’s trying to follow his heart, but his path has been so twisted by his past that he doesn’t really know how to anticipate the future. He’s trying to help the people around him, but because he’s spent so little time confronting his own emotions, he can’t really understand theirs. So, until he knows where he wants to be, let’s just be supportive of him. It’s something he has to do himself, without our help, anyway.”
“Alright.” Sister Alinde agreed with a smile.
Father Benedict clasped his hands together suddenly, his eyes closing tight. Noticing this, Sister Alinde followed his actions and listened closely. His lips parted, and his utterances were grandiose and pious.
“In reverence to the Crown of Thorns, the Goddess, Lady of Ivy, whose bountiful hearth we warm ourselves with, your love doth shine. To the symbol of grace and divinity, fine embrace of nature, we seek your light. Your trials and tribulations show your kind mercy, should we be worthy of your kindness. Beneath your crown, we find our strength. In your presence, we find peace. Oh Lady of Ivy, the Crown of Thorns beneath the blood-red sun, our Goddess we belove; in you, we are just.” Father Benedict spoke aloud, a tense expression on his face as he uttered the words.
He could not clear his heart of fear for the young magician.
He could only hope that Lumière would find his path without getting hurt.
As he finished his prayer, he stood up, hovering at the edge of the hall’s door as he spoke once more.
“Elise, give my words some thought, okay?” He said ruefully.
Simply, the Sister responded with conviction.
“Ainsworth, the day I abandon the Goddess is the day I will die.”
Father Benedict smiled softly upon hearing her words as if it was laughable, yet he said nothing and slipped into the darkness of his room.
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‘I wouldn’t say those words lightly.’
—
Lumière had mentioned the reward of a single, undisclosed favour, yet faced with uncertainty, Artis Faulkner had accepted it so easily. He knew then that the concept of the marriage proposal towards him meant much more to her than he had previously assumed. As for the non-descriptive reward on his part, it was just because he couldn’t think of anything relatively useful at the moment.
After all, remembering things wasn’t his strong suit in the slightest.
It had been a long time since Lumière and the proclaimed ‘genius blade’ had first met.
Several years ago, he had felt something lacking in his magical endeavours- rather, he felt as if he had been lacking something as a whole- as if he had lost the fiery passion that once raged brightly for his performances. So, he made his way through the middle borough, hoping to find what he had been missing.
Eventually, he had stumbled upon the very thing that filled his heart with excitement - fencing.
Although, it wasn’t the act of swordcraft itself that excited Lumière. It was the art of ‘performance’ that had kept Lumière enthralled.
So, he had fallen out of love with magic, which had been nothing but lies and devoted the entirety of his being to the blade he had been lent. Slowly, he learned of the dance by which one would interact with their opponent, and quickly, he learned to lament the world that did not contain such grace.
It was then that he saw the beauty of the swordswoman, whom he had forever called the ‘genius blade’ of the fencer’s gathering. She, who was a woman of wealthy regard, did not need to pursue such a path. Still, without sweat on her brow, she showed off her skill effortlessly, and so Lumière felt the need to work that much harder.
So, as Lumière had started to pursue the path of the blade, he had slowly started to abandon that of illusion- of lies.
He reached into his front pocket, pulled out the simple silver pocket watch, flipped it open, and noted the time. Midday had arrived, and it was likely that soon the bouts of rainfall would grow harsher.
“You really like that watch, don’t you?” Artis smiled softly. “If you were to marry me, I’m sure I could acquire you something much more fitting- something much more regal.”
“This watch is fine enough for me.”
Lumière shook his head and placed it back into his front pocket before stepping forward.
“Shall we begin, Ms. Faulkner?” Lumière smiled.
She didn’t part her lips, only nodding in response as she bowed.
Lumière did the same, and then they stood in parallel, facing each other as they unsheathed their blades.
Hers was as black as obsidian, with a gleam underneath the faded streaks of sunlight that shone through the hall’s windows. His was silver and fierce, like a monstrosity of his unerring conviction forged into steel.
He stepped forward, quickly thrusting forth towards the woman who parried it in turn, stepping to the side.
To him, it seemed like a dance of steps.
‘ Is this all ‘performance’ really is, when you break it down to its bare roots? A simple dance?’ Lumière wondered as he stared at the genius, circling. ‘I wonder if the reason I enjoy swordsmanship so much is because it is so ‘grand’? Performing as a magician has lost all of its spark…’
‘Performance in fencing, and performance in illusion… aren’t they the same thing, to have called them by the same name? Then, couldn’t I just…?’
Without hesitation, Lumière ripped his cloak away from his body, dashing in a mad, white flash towards the genius blade. Her eyes widened, and quickly she responded in turn, raising her sword to meet his approach.
Then, from behind he placed his blade to her throat with a smile.
“Is this your speciality, Mr. Illusionist?” Artis grinned as she looked up at him with an exasperated expression.
“The first principle of illusion is to distract.” He shrugged.
In an instant, he had thrown up his cloak as a diversion, treating it as though it were him dashing towards her. Then, he had slipped underneath her legs and appeared behind her.
Suddenly, Artis grabbed hold of Lumière’s sleeve, pulling him over her without fear of his blade. He hit the ground hard, a sharp and heavy breath escaping his lungs. Despite that, an excited grin crept up his face.
Lumière couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s been a long time since I have felt such joy from ‘performing’.’
He quickly swung his blade towards the swordswoman, wasting no ounce of movement as he stepped forward.
‘Could the inverse be applied to magic, however? Would my patrons really like to see me dance on that grand stage in such an outfit?’
Lumière laughed inwardly as his hand shot forward, grabbing hold of Artis’s arm. His eyes were as sharp as his blade, and his breathing was shallow.
‘His focus is scary…’ Artis thought as she moved to counter him. ‘Where does it come from? If I can grasp this technique… no, if I could trade all of my techniques for one, it would be this one.’
Pulling her by the arm, Lumière pivoted his weight, and in one swift action, threw her over his shoulder. She landed harshly on the cushioned platform below, a gasp escaping her lips in the same fashion as she looked upwards. At that moment, he stood towering over her, his eyes wild and focused.
She stood up once more, swinging her blade behind her shoulder as she blocked Lumière’s oncoming strike.
Still, his focus was intense.
He could feel every muscle in his body- as if his ‘performance’ had entered him into some sort of trance.
Balancing his weight on his left palm, he prostrated his body, spinning in a circular motion as he kicked at her head. She moved her hand quickly to block it, dropping her blade towards her other hand as she lunged forward.
‘Ah… is her left side open?’
Without hesitation, Lumière thrust his blade forward. It caught at the side of her fluttering cloak, tearing a deep gash into the seam. Her eyes widened as she started to move her blade to block the strike, but it had been far too late. She hadn’t even anticipated his actions.
‘I knew it.’ Lumière thought as he grinned wildly. ‘Now all of a sudden, performing is way more fun.’
He stepped back as he let the genius blade regain her balance. She stood straight as she faced him, and they began to step in sideways motions.
“You’ve been coming here for nearly three years, right?” Artis asked with curious eyes as they circled each other.
“Nearly.”
“Why is it, in that time, you’ve never asked to bout with the Master? Surely then, your skill would be officially recognised, despite everyone knowing of your talent already.” She wondered. “Then, you would be able to make a career out of your swordskill…”
“Is everything about money to you, Ms. Faulkner?” Lumière laughed as he surged forward, holding his blade behind his back to conceal its intentions.
‘Well, it’s not as if I enjoy my current career wholly, but it’s always been my dream to be a magician, not a swordsman…’
Lumière let out a harsh, sharp breath from his gritted teeth as he swung his blade towards Artis, uncharacteristic of the fencing style. Of course, Lumière had never been particular about any sort of style, in such a way that he had grown to forge his own.
‘I just want to live out my fantasy in this cruel world. I want to help the people around me smile, in my own way.’
Their blades collided harshly as Artis blocked his swing.
Suddenly, Lumière let go of his blade. It started to fall towards the ground alongside the magician, and with one sweep of his leg, Artis was left staring at the ceiling. He quickly caught his blade and pressed it against Artis’s throat.
“I think with this, it’s as good as over, Ms. Faulkner.” Lumière smiled softly as he glanced down towards her.
Her expression quivered, and she bit at her lip as she tried to keep her eyes from tearing up.
‘I’m sorry, Ms. Faulkner. I never had any intention to lose, and so I strung you along. After all, what I’m truly good at is being a liar.’ Lumière cursed at himself sorrowfully in his mind. ‘Although, in reality, it may have been the best choice to lose to you. I know it would benefit me… and I know you want to get stronger too. That’s why you want me beside you so badly, but I’m not all that you think I am, not in that way.’
‘After all, the hopes I cling onto are pointless.’