"I'm sorry," Väino said, his voice thick with sadness as he looked into Ilmatar's eyes.

"I understand my comments were rude. I only did so to lighten up the mood. I'm sorry, too." Ilmatar replied. She acted as if she were crying, though no tears flowed from her eyelids. The corners of her mouth twitched in an unsettling imitation of grief, a façade that only made Väino sigh.

"I didn’t think I would meet him so soon," Väino stepped closer, reaching out to caress her head, his fingers brushing against the smooth texture of her porcelain-like skin. Ilmatar watched him with a melancholy expression, her eyes glistening. "What happened to you two that I don't know?"

"It’s what happened to Marjatta," he confessed.

"Your wife? Lady Marjatta?" she asked. Väino's heart ached at the mention of her name, memories flooding back—moments of laughter, the warmth of her embrace, the light that had once filled his life.

"Yes," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Ilmarinen was the one to blame for the fire where she died. I have forgiven him, but I never wanted to see him again."

"The fire where I almost got burned to a crisp? I didn't know!" Ilmatar rolled her shirt sleeve up, revealing a ghastly black burn on her skin. The texture was porous and rough, reminiscent of pumice stone.

"I know you've wanted to stay original to how my wife created you, except for your hair, but don’t you want me to replace the burned part?" he asked.

The doll shook her head. Väino sank into an armchair in the living room, the weight of the world pressing heavily on his shoulders. He exhaled deeply, the sigh escaping his lips like a whispered prayer for relief. His gaze fell upon a letter left by Ilmarinen before he left, its edges worn and creased.

"What is it in the letter?" Ilmatar asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I’ve been relieved of my position. I no longer have the authorization to approach the Sampo." Each word felt like a stone dropped into a silent pond, sending ripples of disbelief and anger swirling through the air.

"God damn! Was it Ilmarinen?" she asked, her voice rising in fury, the anger radiating from her like heat from a flame.

"No, he came to give me notice and took the opportunity to fix Annikki. The decision was made before he took office as the Highest Judge by the House of Representatives. Only now it is official." Väino's voice was heavy, laden with the bitterness of betrayal and loss.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Is he not the Highest Judge? Can't he veto it?" The desperation in Ilmatar’s voice cut through the tension, a plea for hope amidst the chaos.

"He tried, but the decision was unanimous. I shouldn't have taken the Sampo out of the city even if there was a risk of damage." The truth clawed at Väino's heart.

"But the boiler flooded and was closed until a month ago! How did they want you to protect it?" Ilmatar asked, her voice rising again, a tempest of frustration swirling around her.

"No idea," Väino replied, his tone heavy with resignation. "But even he cannot reverse the motion at this point." The finality of his words settled like a stone in his stomach.

"What will you do now?" she pressed, her expression softening slightly, curiosity mingling with concern.

"I think I'll sell dolls. I'll go back to the old family business." The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

Ilmatar burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room like the crack of thunder. "People don’t have slaves anymore, so now they want your dolls," Her laughter was manic, a cacophony of madness that juxtaposed the gravity of their conversation. It reverberated in the air, filling the space with an unsettling energy that made Väino’s skin crawl.

“You know, you’re despicable.” Väino sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the strands slip between his fingers like the hopes he had once clung to. "It's not like that, Ilmatar. Making dolls... it’s not just a business to me. It’s a connection to Marjatta, to the life we built together. Each one carries a piece of her spirit, a reflection of her artistry."

He glanced around the dimly lit room, the shadows dancing along the walls as if mocking him. Once, this space had been filled with laughter and life. Now, it felt like a tomb, a hollow shell echoing with the ghosts of memories that refused to fade. The scent of dust hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of wood and varnish, the remnants of his craft.

"What else can you do?" Ilmatar's voice broke through his musing. "You can’t just sit here wallowing in the past forever. You need to find a way forward."

"I know," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. "But how do I move on when every corner of this place is steeped in her memory? When everything reminds me of what I've lost?"

Ilmatar’s expression shifted, a flicker of understanding illuminating her features. "You have to create something new, Väino. Transform your pain into art, into something that can breathe once more."

"Art?" he echoed, uncertainty creeping into his heart. "What good is art when it feels like the world is crumbling around me? When everything I touch feels tainted by loss?"

"You have a gift," she insisted, her voice firm yet kind. "Marjatta believed in you. She saw the beauty in your creations. Don’t let her memory become a prison. Use it as a springboard. Create anew, for her sake and for your own."

Väino’s heart tightened at her words, the truth resonating within him like a low hum. Ilmatar was right. In his craft, he could find a glimmer of solace, a breath of life.

"I’ll think about it," he conceded, the flicker of hope igniting within him, fragile yet persistent. "Maybe I can find a way to honor her memory through my work. But it won't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing ever is," Ilmatar replied, a hint of a smile breaking through her earlier fury. "You’re not alone, and you have the memories of those who loved you. Lean into that."

Väino took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, the weight of despair slowly lifting. The room still felt heavy with memories, but now, amidst the shadows, he sensed the possibility of a new beginning.

“You also have me,” Ilmatar puffed out her chest. “I’m your best creation!”