♫Cleaners From Venus - Stars Are Cold♫

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field [https://i.vgy.me/kyNfoG.jpg]

I - Dögun

April 11, 1783

...

Rain rain, go away... Come back on yellow monday... Rain, rain falls again... Comes on each blue tuesday... Despite the synchronization, none of their voices sound any mellow. But they do not care. Add some music to your day, and that's it. These kids are playing on the yard, where the tall grass becomes clouds, and each square they jump when playing hopscotch is a path closer to heaven. Everything is perfect on heaven, but they live on Gaia instead. Below the cotton clouds, dirtied of soot as they do. It ain't funny when someone throws a sharp stone, as if any of these kids were willing to step over it, but injuries come anyway. A boy pulls another, and a tooth fell out of his mouth. Jack remembers how silly where these fights, because he never fought for a reason other than his sake. He still do fight to protect his kind, and someone else's as well. Not that his sister isn't weak. In fact, Freya shares of hard bones, but that doesn't mean she feels pain anymore.

Weren't you there to give assistance to your sister? That's what Lenneth would ask to Jack, her son, as soon as he came back at home, followed of his sister. Mom never said such a thing, though Jack, because he never allowed her to. He is willing to take good care of Freya, even when she doesn't want of his presence. There is a line in regards of a a life to be called your own, and a a place to be called home. Burmecia is the home of Burmecians, and Gaia is the home of Gaians. Everyone is part of Gaia, but same Gaia isn't part of everyone. And not only Burmecians live at Burmecia, despite how similar both names sound. A glass of water, a window glass that is watered by the rain, a glass of glass... No wonder why standard english is one of the poorest kinds of languages. Same reason to why it's used by everyone, and integrated to all nations as well, alike the alphabet.

Why an 'A' is 'A'? Freya asked to her brother. Not all 'Jacks' are the same 'Jack', he replied. So many Jacks, and Freya only knew about one. Hey, daddy's name is Bart, isn't it? Jack... Bart... they share four words. How nice logic sounded to Freya and her both ears. Something so trivial, banal, but everything was new to her. Why not care about it, if soon you won't? To find out there is a basement, and the most fascinating of the treasures found there to be a broomstick. Only a broomstick, but within a child's mind, it could happen to be anything else. The 'teeth' belonging to the brooms are said to be taken out of whales mouths. They lie deep in the sea, a place none of Freya's relatives ever had been. Seeing the clouds above, moving like ships, and middays that become darker suddenly, tidal waves are made in front of a street, manholes become maelstroms, and paper boats are sunk. Paper gets wet, then it sunks on manhole. A hand is tiny to grab them...

Airships of paper, swans of paper, chocobos of paper... and nobody cares to write any letters. Freya can't write, despite knowing her own name, and the name belonging to many things. A tiny beetle becomes a HUGE BEETLE, a ladder turns into a

L

A

D

D

I

E, and nobody else writes the word 'rat' with same 'r' backwards.

Many of Freya's friends live so near, only a few squares and steps are taken. Dan's house is only four quarters. Voss's home just happens to be found down the street. Quick! Bring the eight wine cups! Orochi must be sealed right away, Crescent!... Voss is a good storyteller, althought many of her stories seem a bit frightening. Those who are old alike her doesn't seem to care that much. In fact, all of Voss's stories sound exactly the same when it comes to bring fear, and hope as well. Yamata no Orochi; the great serpent, born out of Gaia's will. One of the last old gods venerated by the civilizations before they became a single Burmecia, and Bahamut the only god found upon the skies, and Leviathan to rule the seas below. Orochi still lived, so did the clan who followed of his principles. As long as nature and humanity had an equal balance, Orochi had no need to intervene, but centuries later, same nature who granted its powers to Orochi began to crumble.

He could no longer await to fulfill its goal of cleansing this same Gaia of all burmecian lives Bahamut tolerated, grewing in numbers, so did many of their sins. Those who obeyed Orochi waged on war against the followers of Bahamut. Dragoon Knights and all people avaliable for combat were tasked to protect the boundaries of this kingdom. To bring everything to nothingness was Orochi's goal, before he was sealed away by the three sacred burmecian treasures, holded by Cyan, grandson of the first King of Burmecia, who holded of the Kusanagi sword forged by the great Leviathan; Suzaku, descendant of a former Orochi's follower, who knew the recipe of the eight wine cups meant to drunk the serpent; and Leviathan Knight Reis, daughter of Frøja, who holded of a mirror brought by the great serpent's own tears. With Orochi suspended, he could no more bring of its onslaught to this world. Some say that the souls of the warriors that followed Orochi now reside within the Grand Dragons.

Some stories were less epic, but still fascinating to be heard by Freya. Yet, they always shared of the same mood, and the fact that the sun always settled down when arriving at Voss's house didn't helped. Neither the fact that there is no sun to be seem, only a few of its warmth to be brought into tiny sunrays. A fireplace is a good candidate for being its substitute, but after hearing the story Voss told yesterday, the flames of each fire screamed alike the Cumacanga. Legend says that the Cumacanga happens to be the last daughter of an offspring of seven sons brought of a Priest's forbidden love. During the day, nothing else happens, but when night arrives, the Cumacanga reveals its true shape, as soon as the head leaves the body to fly around the meadows, a flaming ball that stuns those who hang around late at night.

— Wait a moment... Can't a Priest have any sons? A boy by the name of Marco asked. He was the middle son of a local Priest.

— We're dealing about forbidden desires stuff – Voss replied back then. A quick relief had been brought, until – there is a punishment for each one of them – Voss added.

— I don't think laziness can be deemed as a sin, because same prevent others sins from happening... – weren't for Labatut's appreciation for soft meat, Marco would already fell asleep, no matter how much a floor seems cold.

— Excuse me, Voss... – something bothered Freya, in regards to the tale told – how a fire head glows under rain?...

— Magic, I guess.

...

II - Fyrsta

October 06, 1781

...

Once, giant birds lived on this earth. Think about chocobos, but three times higher, and faster. And menacing too. Not that a chocobo isn't all these things, but... well, their peck hurts. It's like a nip brought to a skinny arm. These chocobos, at least, they do not share of any fondness for meat. Only grass. I wear green to this day. Maybe Doyle though that I was a moving grass. Grass doesn't scream, althought I heard once about Mandragoras, and if you pull them out of the earth, well, they scream at you. Very loud. I and my throat and these ears don't like screaming. Daddy says that a person only scream to be heard by another. A dog howls at the moon, but the moon won't hear his. Now, what I was talking about... Oh, giant birds, that's right. Sorry. I got lost, so many things happened when I was crossing Gizamaluke's Grotto. I also got lost in there. I'm not lost, ya see. Well, about the giant birds... Daddy only showed me their bones. They are all dead. Extinction only comes for those who are big enough to this world. That's why diseases still exist, daddy said.

Fratley... I miss his. He was a funny guy, though Jack. Years passed, and the last time I heard of his was, like, three years ago. His family must be living outside these lands, since his father is a traveler. How time passes... Guess we won't be able to recognize each other. I still recognize the place I live, but to feel of same rain is something else. Now it's time for snow to pour at the ceilings, at the leaves, atop us. White, thick snow. It's so cold that my skin burns, so I won't leave home. Stay near the fireplace, mom said. Careful for not letting your sister play with fire, she said it too. Why would I let Freya leave a burnt mark into one of her hands, I thought to myself. I would never step at her tail, never again. Fur can unfold what lies beneath the skin and the many marks left. To tighten a fierce belt is Freya's only solution for not letting her pants to fell out. My pants. How shameful for this to happen near the relatives... I and my legs used to be so fat back then.

Only in case I disobeyed or didn't accomplished what mom told me to do and not to, she brought Otterley to take care of us. She is the nursemaid that brought us to this world. Guess she is part of the family, kinda. A bit younger than mom, older and taller than me. I heard from mom that Otterley was born and raised at Cleyra. Fratley once went there with his father. It's a tradition that those who were born at that trunk may return there someday. I asked to Otterley if she ever came back to her home. Only once, she said. Do you miss Cleyra? I asked too. Maybe Ottis does. She doesn't even look alike a Cleyran. I heard that they wear peachy and flowery dresses. Not that a dress makes any difference, because Ottis looks beautiful on each way for me.

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The only thing that remained of her home, besides memories, was that hair. Also found upon that head. Face, I mean. A beautiful face, as well. Why am I drooling, if lunch had not been prepared already? I feel like I am sweating, but the heat doesn't come out of me. Instead, it grows, and the fireplace isn't lit yet. It's hard to describe what I do feel for Ottis. I like her, and that's weird enough, coming from a kid that used to spit on those walking below a tree. I am not a kid anymore, same for Ottis, and that pretty long, and well combed hair. The girls who grew of long hair are qualified to realize the ritual dance back at Cleyra. To sustain the strenght of the sandstorm, or so that's what I've understood. The storm is so big and strong that I have gotten sand inside my pants, Fratley told me as well. He even brought some sand from that place, which became a pile of mud when back at Burmecia. A sand soft as a pillow of clouds that even my feet sunk into a dune... I heard nothing coming out of Ottis, only from my sister.

I'm hungry, Freya said. She is always hungry, and always heard. This ain't normal, only if you have a vermin inside you. Her skin doesn't look any pale, so that's just a guess. Expectations hardly surpass reality. In fact, I thought that I would never adress Ottis on this way, alike mom, or dad, who are always here, and they are part of me too. She was just a caretaker, like any other. All I could do was to behave, to bare of random people into this house. To put a finger on the nose, no way! To be fair, I'm also getting sick of it. Just like lil' sis used to be crawling around, before her knees began to hurt. At least, Freya can stand on her feet. This means that she can kick my butt instead of biting my tail. To think it all of this seemed to have happened yesterday, and only I and mom and dad to rememeber... Geez, when have I gotten so sentimental? Guess I always had been.

Don't know where to stock grief. I don't need to, only at the moment. Only a fist to be delivered right at their faces. Then, I feel bad. At least, I feel something other than satisfaction. I know already that I'll be punished too, soon or later. I do not bare of Ottis presence, but I just accepted it. Same for Freya. I also accepted that mom won't be back at home soon, and that dad will be tired, just alike mom. Same can't be said for Freya. She's still young, althought a bit taller than someone with that age. Five, alike her fingers. Fingers, claws, feet, pawns, fur, skin... so many words, for a few things. Ottis is taking care of us, but for what reason? Mom and dad are willing to pay her, because nobody works for free. Dad works everywhere, and gets tired anyway. I do not work, I only offer of help. And I thought I would never clean any dishes, just because of Ottis... I like her. Freya too.

My sis once called Ottis by 'mom'. It must had been a reflex act. You get so familiar with someone that it happens. I mean, Freya's writing is a bit ugly, but she knows how to write. Her thoughts are quick, so does many of her words. Sometimes, Freya reminds myself when I was young, but I wasn't a girl. And my mom ain't that kind of person to be feared, only by the dragons. To think I once have gotten so unfamiliar of mom that I didn't even called her by, but I knew Lenneth was here. There, by now, wearing that Dragoon Knight outfit as usual. Dad once brought and cut a pumpkin, and those eyes he made on its shell reminded sis of the holes belonging to a Dragoon's helmet. They are pretty heavy, unlike an empty pumpkin. Freya used to wear it upon her head, until it began to rotten, and fruit flies lied and hovered around it.

Mom smells worse, Freya said. Mom is always here to give us a goodnight kiss, though.

...

III - Myrkur

August 17, 1784

...

The Kingdom of Burmecia is found on another of its frost seasons. Mean seasons. Drips of rain falling from the ceiling becomes sharp stalactites. Dragoon teeth, as it's usually referred to. Even the thick air breathe changes from fog to ice. There'll be a plenty of these stored inside the underground cabinet. The river Kinneas found beneath the many bridges became a slippery sidewalk. Bahamut can't freeze this entire kingdom, because beautiful days do not last forever, someone complains to the skies. Someone awaiting to be heard. All adults seem to do are to complain. Daddy never complained, no matter how tired he felt after the job. He won't feel tired anymore, won't lay over that couch, or will ever be brought back at home. Only the cries for his name. Freya despises the raining seasons, because they're wet like bath. Her tears aren't enough to wash her face, or to make the world around her any clean. Ashes already burnt remain grey, so does her skin.

— What's up, Jack? – Dan asked to his cousin, standing with the feet upon a wooden chair, near the window. Rain keeps falling atop the mountains. Althought it is a piece of cake to climb upon a tree, or to even stand atop the ceiling of his home far from sweet, Jack never went there, yet the boy gazes at that same distance. For a while, it's fascinating how a few don't even share of a time to gaze at such distances, then it gets boring. Dan talks bullshit, and so Jack looks somewhere below the highest of the mountains, just so to not forget he's living on these same layers of reality where the once seasonal crops of a golden autumn are gone, and now only fallow lands remained. Mom is preparing soup, Jack though. At least, he won't feel any empty as his stomach.

— You know very well how do I feel, Gappys. That's why you came here, right? – did he needed an answer to be brought? No. But to realise that someone else was there was enough of an answer, for many whys not explained. To carry on secrets until the grave... Nobody is flawless enough to deal with these kind of things. Days dragged away, moments spent with someone else, time slipping away from the shore wharf before it all sunked; once, Jack almost lost his father. Now, Jack misses same father, for sure. He lost half of what he was, but suffering can't be divided. Only shared by same people, those near and away, out in their homes. No distance is known by death. The time when it happens can't be measured.

— Well, to be fair, I only came here to see your mom – that same sentence would piss off the old Jack, something worth enough of a punch. But Jack had no need to do any of these things. He felt off of his self. At least, Dan was being sincere, something once unrelated to his kind. Or Jack's own. Just a boy, that's what he is, despite being a burmecian. So did his father, Dan's uncle as well. Bartholomew Brandford only fought a war when on the field, but same wasn't enough to kill his. Jack remembers each time he demanded something for father to accomplish. There are no tears shed. They happen to appear easily when yawning. Jack needs a bit of air, and less pressure.

A breathe comes and goes, but the awful silence remains. Dan doesn't even have time to tell his cousin about Learie, who was willing to pay a visit for Jack. And Freya too. She lies over her bed, inside the same room she shares with her brother. This room used to be Jack's own, before Freya grew up, enough to walk on her own, and to talk something other than noise, but the first thing Freya ever did on her own... was to cry. It needed to be her, or someone else would force her to. That's what the infant later known as Freya did, even before those around it were aware that the 'it' was 'she'. Would it make a difference if Freya had been born as a boy? Only the name would change, but pain remains the same, throught all ages. The pain doesn't only belong to an only gender, or even bothers to know what such is.

Pain is pain, who doesn't have no reason to be brought any reason. Same pain couldn't be defined as static in nature, or in motion alike tears coming from inside her eyes. They are still green, a lively color. Her skin is pinky, covered by grey fur. Someday, both will share of same color. Dad is sleeping, but soon Freya will have to wake up. No matter how much she attempt to close her eyes, and given a plenty of silence coming from same room, Freya knows that there'll be soup, only by feeling a faint scent coming from the kitchen below. The skies turn dark, and there are no stars to shine upon the skies. On Burmecia, they are already dead. The only brightness comes from the lamp oils lit outside, and candles are melting inside the houses. Wooden piles burnt on a fireplace, smoke rises from the chimneys, disappearing from the sight and flair... even the wind refuses to blow each one of the candles lit by Lenneth.

The Crescent didn't had to work today. How could she, after being told that her husband just... died. Only a word, threw straight on her face, still unsettling her alike a cicada moving towards an object, unafraid of those being faced by its ugliness and maladroit flight. A bad joke that nobody laughed at. Bart didn't fainted on midair, or had the blade of a warriot struck in the heart. He didn't even asked to be killed. It was a worthless death, belonging to the worthless of the men, caused by same as well. Far worse than dying on sleep, or by being struck by a butter knife in the chest. The circumstances, how many shards of a broken glass were found, shattered alike the jigsaw his skull became didn't mattered. Nobody was there, nobody was punished. And who else should had been? Nobody should ever been brought of same suffering, even if they deserved some, though Lenneth.

She thought about many things, some unleft to be done for this day. How easy it was to shed a smile just by curving her lips, and yet, Lenneth still had something to hide. How come others were able to smile and to not bother about their teeth, faces that became grimaces, exaggerated looks that don't fit with someone as serious as a Dragoon Knight. Lenneth tried once, but the mirror always show how uncanny her face looks alike, how that idiotic expression changed into nothing, and how plain those lips became. It was the shock having its effect, finally. Not that Lenneth was expecting for it to happen, or for Bart not coming home. He won't, nevermore. Lenneth swore that she would prepare herself to a hunt, beginning with tomorrow, but then a dish slipped out of her hands. Sip of teas were meant to calm down a person, not upset one further.

But a Dragoon Knight ain't cold-blooded as a dragon does, said Ezekiel, a longtime friend of Lenneth. He came in as soon as his duty, same as Lenneth, was over for today. It all became a personal matter, and these are the most dangerous to be dealt. Despite the amount of work to be done, nothing prevented Dragoon Knights of making their own families. Even Ezekiel went there followed of his adopted daughter Hrist, falling asleep upon his lap. Even dragons kill Burmecian children to sustain of their offspring, though Lenneth. The only kind of emptiness meant to be filled in that night was the one who belonged to each stomach. Warm unlike each of their hands, bowls of soup were served on the table. Only the scent was enough to call the kids upstairs to their descent. Do not eat too much, or you'll suffer nightmares; this family was already living one, and only when morning arrives for all of them to realise they're awaken. And alive, on the other side.

No matter the strenght of impulse, Lenneth needed to stay close of those whom she cared about, instead of being further dragged away by such moments. At least, the Crescent still have the opportunity and time to share some with Jack, and Freya. These would not disappear out of her life, unlike a third son, that died even before it was given birth, or though a name, or even conceived outside of a though, gone with time.

...