Once upon a time, there was a cafe in the heart of an unceasing storm. The air was abuzz with endless chatter. Patrons gossiped about what was on their minds over warm cups of chai tea, interjecting their thoughts between sips and sighs of pleasure. Most had gathered around in groups of three or four, each one trying to outcompete the others in terms of words per second, the cadence transforming itself to a rapid-fire staccato over who said what and how dare they slander this and that. Most of this chatter concerned the weather, especially the biting gales strong enough that hardened steel bent to their will, or the recent uptick in Calamities around the globe. Between these bubbles of conversations weaved a girl with a cup that was always full of espresso, and never without a word to say.
“Oh, I think your date will love that colour of tie!”
“Yeah, the wind isn’t going to let up, might as well bunker down here in the pub.”
“Awwww! I love your cat! I wish I could own one…”
“Huh, so you work for that corporation? The telecommunications one that promises to build Calamity-resistant fibre optic cables? Tell me more!”
“I love the presentation of this dish, can I take a picture to post on social media?”
The conversations between the girl and the patrons flowed at a steady rate. She loved the vibrancy of the patrons, despite being trapped inside the pub during yet another record-breaking storm. More than once, she contemplated live-streaming a Calamity to boost her following on social media. It was the most popular thing to live stream nowadays, and it would have allowed access to more potential networking contacts and associates. She even mentioned it once or twice with a co-worker of hers. However, she was refused at every turn, especially since she was at risk of being injured or dying in the middle of a potential live stream. Besides, she found people much more interesting and worthy of attention, rather than another natural disaster.
Observing those around her has been a hobby of hers. That young woman who rapidly rhythmically tapped her foot with her eyes glued to her phone, her unfocused eyes darting around the room? Waiting on an essential text from a friend or significant other, or one that she thinks is important. That couple, their tea untouched, eyes averted, arms a fair distance apart? She was probably on the verge of a breakup, and imminent considering the woman was fingering a locket with a picture that was not her boyfriend's. The man in the corner, with his pinched face talking forcefully over the phone with an oh-so-very expensive briefcase? Something must have happened to his fibre optic cables, so integral to his business practices. People are like books, the girl thought, you just have to keep turning the pages. Earlier today, she had stepped in and given the couple a nod, wanting to see how close they were. The man gave her a flirtatious grin, only to be glared at by his girlfriend. To turn the pages, the girl had to make an effort.
The modern-style lights in their slender cylindrical form are now shaking side to side, a symptom of the blustery gales outside. Already, one window was forced open as a chilly breath greeted the patrons of the bar with what waited outside. There was a group clustered in the corner, whispering excitedly with their eyes darting with animation only found in those that have located their object of obsession. Storm chasers, the girl concluded, here to film the next Calamity. There was nothing special about a Calamity, not when you have the news cycle pumping twenty-four-hour blurbs about the latest disaster to strike the globe or the latent social unrest that seemed to always bubble to the surface but that never overflowed despite the media’s dire predictions and warnings.
Perhaps that’s why everyone here is worried, the girl thought. The telltale signs of anxiety were painted as clear as day on everyone’s faces, from the little girl crying on her mother’s lap to the old ladies’ faces creased with a sense of worry. It was as if all were anticipating the climax of some great play, waiting for the moment to unfold onstage and for their roles to be played to perfection. The girl observed strong trees bending before willful gales outside and spied the billboards tossed in the air like a child’s unwanted toy. The roof of this very pub was creaking, resisting the powerful force of the wind, daring and free. Her briefcase was at her feet, from which the girl took her laptop. The girl opened it, wondering what she should post. Should she bundle her post with hashtags bemoaning the state of the weather? Maybe, but she should take a picture of her latte. It was custom ordered, the cream in the perfect shape of a daffodil.
She took the picture, uploaded it to social media, and drank her latte. Outside the window, she spied a lone woman, walking to the pub. What was she doing out here? In the middle of a growing Calamity of all places? The government had ordered that everyone should stay inside for their protection, and to descend into the basements if they had one. Unfortunately, the pub was not built with a cellar and so the girl and the patrons waited out the storm with enough caffeine to spread gossip and sow discord. The girl focused on the woman, a fascinating subject in her eyes. The woman’s face was obscured by large yellow-tinted sunglasses that covered half of her face. Her head was wrapped in a sheer scarf with strands of light brown hair wriggling in the howling wind. The girl touched her own light brown hair. The gait was light, the woman’s high heels not making a sound, though that can be excused by the interference of the weather outside. The posture was relaxed and straight, but not so rigid as to suggest uptightness or an austere disposition. As the woman came into view, the girl saw the woman turning in her direction. Though she could not see the woman’s eyes, she felt the measured weight of someone equally focused, of a woman who has contemplated more than her fair share of people and found them wanting.
If she could have described that moment, she would have said it was one for the books. The woman stopped in front of the window, stared into the girl’s eyes, and removed her sunglasses. Daffodils, that was the girl’s first thought, daffodil yellow eyes. Upon further examination, the girl spat out her latte. It was like staring into a mirror, with both of them possessing the same small nose, the same high cheekbones, the same youthful radiance, and the same mouth open in surprise. The only detail marring the reflection was the woman’s eyes, those bright striking yellow eyes. The woman's ovaline face contorted from an expression of shock to one of brimming curiosity, examining the girl's face. Self-consciously, the girl touched her face, feeling the curve of her cheekbones. Who is this woman, and why does she look like her? Dropping off a few euros, the girl hurried out into the entryway and out of the door. The woman was now about ten paces away from the girl, and walking fast. The girl tried to run forward, calling the woman fading away in the distance. A small slip and her feet are swept up by a gust of air.
She was moving fast, too fast for her liking. The girl passed by the woman, the woman only glancing at the girl as the wind pulled the girl away. Dodging a well-lit beer hall sign, she collided with a mighty linden tree. The linden tree was still standing when the wind returned the girl to her current path. She reminded herself why Calamities were off-limits as she sailed over the Spree and knocked her head on the nearby bridge. Still awake, the girl wiped her eyes to find the woman watching her from under the bridge, and that the cafe window is approaching rather quickly.
The lively atmosphere in the cafe and the window were shattered by the girl, the storm outside sending her back to where she came from along with many glass fragments. The wind, free to wreak havoc as it saw fit, tossed the patrons’ cups into the air. In the meanwhile, the girl was groaning in a pool of glass and blood, eyes barely keeping awake. Her ears rang, and she could barely make out the rushed and hurried voices of the cafe goers.
“Is she okay?”
“I thought that glass was impervious!”
“Someone, call 112!”
“Don’t call the police, I’ve got this under control.” The voice carried no trace of an accent, yet the girl somehow knew that the voice was not a Berliner one. Surprisingly authoritative, the patrons of the cafe stopped to listen. The girl strained to hear more but eventually collapsed into a deep sleep.
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Yellow, that was all she saw. Yellow flowers stretched into the horizon, yellow wispy hair tangled in front of her eyes, and a yellow kite trailed in the springtime breeze. Leaves swirled around her, green, yellow, and red, as she sprinted across the field. There was someone in the distance, slightly out of view. She could only make out hair the colour of daffodils in two neat little braids, and a hand pulling the same kite that followed her. Her legs were stubby, and she called for the other girl in a child’s voice.
“Wait for me!”
The other girl’s laughter sounded from across the small hill. “You better catch up!”
She ran faster, towards the sound of the other girl. The sky above was free of clouds, with only a small grey orb in the sky. Catching up, she found herself, or a girl that looked identical to her when she was a child. Blond hair that had darkened to a light brown in adulthood, baby fat that has been long gone, a bubbly smile that transformed into a quick smirk. The only differences between this girl and her childhood self were the yellow eyes and the medallion hanging from her neck.
“What did you want to show me?” She asked. The words were not her own.
“Watch this!” At once, the girl cupped her hands. Waiting for a few seconds, she removed her hand to reveal a miniature spinning tornado in her hands.
“Wow! That’s so cool!” The voice was a child’s voice, innocent and carefree.
“I know right?” The other girl threw it into the air. “Now we have more wind for the kites!”
The mature part of the girl was sure something was going to go wrong, but the childlike part of her wanted nothing more than to see the kites fly higher in the sky.
They did, and spectacularly at that. The girl noticed that the only difference between the two kites is the colour of the ribbons: black for her, and white for the other girl. She looks down. Black shoes and white shoes. Both of them are wearing yellow, one in pants and the other in a loose-fitting dress. Their hair was whipping in the wind, but they didn’t care.
Who was the other girl though? An inkling of a recollection tried to force itself into her mind, but she recalled the other girl nought. Did she meet her before in her childhood? Why do they look identical? These and more questions swirled in her mind.
The tornado increased in strength, and she felt her feet slowly lifting from the ground. Before long, the kite string drew taut, and the girl is swept into the air, hanging onto the kite. She wasn’t scared though, for she knew in her heart that she would not die in this tornado. The other girl called out to her, but the words were too faint…
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She awoke with a pounding headache and a pillow underneath her head. Instantly, she moved her head only to immediately yell in pain. Her entire body ached and all the girl accomplished was rolling over onto the floor. Someone was kind enough to bring her briefcase back. How much time has passed? She was moved to her hotel room, and someone had the decency to give her a cup of coffee. There was a note on the floor, so the girl stretched and grabbed it. Unfolding it, she noted that the note was in English.
To Thomasin (Yes, I did have a look at your wallet, don’t freak out),
The girl stared at the note, was about to get mad, and realised she would have done the same thing. She continued reading, admiring the calligraphy of her mysterious saviour.
Let me begin by saying that I am sorry I ignored you while you were being tossed by
the storm outside. I had pressing concerns on my mind, and I did not intend for you
to be put in harm’s way. I follow you on social media, and that is why I was surprised
by your appearance at the cafe. It isn’t often I see a familiar face in the capital of
Germany. It is standard that rescuers do not ask favours from those in need of
rescue, but I must ask that you grant me one boon. I would love for us to have
dinner together on Wednesday afternoon if you don’t mind. I do admire your
portfolio, especially the places you have travelled and all of those photos! If you
aren’t feeling well enough to meet, I have provided the perfect remedy to your
problems. It’s under the table that I put the espresso shot on.
There was an envelope underneath the table, and as the girl wrenched it out, a medallion fell onto her chest. It was palm-sized and made of some strange dark grey metal. Divided into five sections, with a large central section, coloured yellow and black. The girl stared at it. No other remarkable characteristics, except the strange symbols on the front and the back. There was an upwards pointing triangle with a line, a curved line with a dot, a symbol that resembled the white part of yin-yang, and a stickman with a crescent on its head. Unlocking the latch, the girl marvelled at the contraption. On the edge was an extendable antenna that connected inside the medallion, while the inside contained a speaker, two left and right arrow buttons, and multiple coloured lights. One of the coloured lights was blinking yellow, so she extended the antenna and tapped on a small button.
“You found it?” The voice was unmistakable.
“Yes.” The person who said not to call the police, was the doppelganger?
“Oh, how wonderful.” Her voice carried a transatlantic accent. “Are you well enough to meet today?”
“Today?” It was Wednesday already?
“Yes, you were knocked out pretty hard by the storm. I’m glad you weren’t more severely injured. Honestly.” The girl observed the woman hitching her breath. “You will be well, well enough to stand if I believe so. There isn’t anything wrong with you physically.”
The call ended. The soreness and the pain were gone. The girl stood up and caught herself on the table. How? She couldn't leave the floor previously. Now she has the strength to stand, albeit with the help of a table. The note on the table with the espresso shot may have some answers, she thought. Drinking the entire shot, she unfolded the note.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
You may be wondering how you have the strength to stand up. We can talk about it over dinner. I'm planning it as you read this. I hope you'll like the candles I chose: lemon-scented candles. I'm sure they will help loosen our tongues soon. A trick for a trick, as you like to say.
-P
The entire note smelled like the woman drenched the paper in lemon-scented perfume. The girl liked the smell of lemons, but she gagged from the potent stench. Why would anyone put that much perfume on a single note? Especially one with a large blank space…wait a minute.
A trick for a trick, huh? One of the oldest tricks the girl had learned was how to write secret messages with lemon juice from her friend. Conveniently, there was an unlit candle and a lighter nearby. Within one minute, she had lit the candle, hoping that the fire alarm was inactive today. As she moved the candle up and down the note, what was once blank was now forming yellow-brown words.
Meet me at the Hotel Adlon Kempinski Berlin at 6:00 pm. When you talk to the receptionist, tell them you are looking for Helen Otroi. Follow the receptionist, and do exactly as they say.
Oh, and take a deep breath when you go outside of this room. You may be overstimulated.
-P
Overstimulated? No, the girl is usually the one overstimulating other people. This will be nothing. Opening the door, she smiled confidently…until she stepped fully outside. The sudden rush of static and noise overwhelmed the girl. Out of the noise, she heard snippets of conversations.
…Why is she like this...
…Please stop crying, please stop crying…
…What a terrible view…
…Goddamn him!...
Somewhere in that cacophony, she picked out the flapping of a butterfly's wings, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, a baby crying upstairs, and the Spree flowing through the heart of Berlin. She tried breathing as the note said. In, out, in, out. She needed focus, she thought. All of her failed bets with her friends, all of the places she has travelled to, the languages she’s heard and spoken, her doppelganger…she took a deep breath. The sounds slinked away from her mind, and the girl sighed. She pulled out her phone, luckily stowed away in her jacket pocket, and searched where the hotel is.
After a long argument in which the girl ‘borrowed’ a bicycle from a woman who will never see her bicycle again considering how much she complained about the girl borrowing it for the day, she arrived at the address of the hotel. The five-star hotel was next to the Brandenburger Tor, the quadriga standing prominently against the sky. Inside, the front desk was manned by a young man about her age, who perked up when the girl entered.
“Welcome to the Hotel Adlon Kempenski Berlin, Frau…?”
“Frau Webber.”
“How may I help you today Frau Webber?”
“I was invited to this hotel by a Frau Otroi, her full name is Helen Otroi.” It occurred to the girl that she was never given a floor or a room number. “I’m supposed to be meeting her at 6:00 pm today for dinner.”
Oh, that’s who she wanted to meet today! I can see the resemblance.
The girl blinked. “Who do I resemble?”
He turned to her in surprise. “I didn’t say anything.” She’s a lot more like Frau Otroi than I thought. Sometimes I think my personal space gets invaded more than I’d like…ahh, I have to show Frau Webber the room! “Follow me this way.”
She had not invaded this man's personal space, she was merely asking questions! Why would he think that? The man led her through a luxurious wing of the hotel, yet she still heard multiple conversations, not as intense as back in her hotel room.
…Holy shit this is expensive…
…Where is room service?!...
…Should I lie about the window…
Finally, they ended in front of a room at the end of the hallway. A “Do Not Disturb” sign was hung on the door handle.
“And this is where I leave you, Frau Webber.” What were the instructions again…ah yes! When you go inside the room, there is a glass of water. Drink all of it, and put the glass on your head. Lay on the couch and place the heart-shaped pillow under your head. The glass will have fallen off your head by this point. Ask Frau Otroi if Sunset Glow will breed with Midnight Rose, then point at the horse statue. This guest has strange requests, why did I sign up for this job?
“Thank you.” The girl replied. Helen Otroi is more secretive than her boss, and that’s saying something when your boss has called you in the middle of the night five times and sent you cryptic instructions.
The girl inspected the door. Nothing unusual. She knocked, once, twice. At once the door swung inwards, and hot shower steam hit the girl’s face. The woman from the cafe greeted her with a smile. She must have recently stopped showering, the girl thought, judging from the steam, the bathrobe, and the towel-wrapped hair. Her eyes were still that sharp shade of yellow.
“Come on in! I’ve been waiting to meet you for a while now. Take a seat at the table over there.” The woman pointed at the dark-coloured table near the window.
The girl ignored the woman and grabbed the glass of water on the kitchen countertop. Drinking all of it in one gulp, she gagged from the lemon juice and water mixture. Placing the glass on her head, the girl wobbled carefully to the couch, using her right hand and moved the yellow heart-shaped pillow to a comfortable position for her head and the glass. Surprisingly, the glass remained on her head despite the movement. The woman observed the girl in that critical fashion, eyes scanning over every part of her body, and the glass tipped over at that very moment.
That’s my cue, the girl thought. “You think Sunset Glow will breed with Midnight Rose?” She pointed at the statue of a horse in the middle of galloping, the same colour as her medallion.
The woman cleared her throat. “Sunset Glow is a strong stallion and can endure a greater strain on his body no matter the weather, Calamity or no Calamity. Midnight Rose is swifter, more clever than most mares her age, and adaptable too. Yes, I do think they would make a fine pair, just like us. Without any romance, of course.” That transatlantic English accent is still present.
The girl stared at the woman more closely. “Who are you? Why are we identical in everything other than the colour of our eyes? Why didn’t you want the police involved? Why did you give me an amulet?”
“The police didn’t need to be involved, and the fewer people interfering in your recovery, the faster you will regain your full strength.” The woman’s fingers danced on the bathrobe-covered arm.
“You didn’t answer my first question: who the hell are you?”
“A woman, as you say so in your head, and good job on following those instructions perfectly.” Now the girl is intrigued and alarmed by her attitude. “Don’t be alarmed, I’m only listening to your mind, just like you and that young man.”
The girl’s interest is piqued now. “No one in the world has telepathic powers.” No one else has yellow eyes, whirlwind eyes that never stopped darting.
“You are oddly poetic, Miss Webber, for an English influencer. Tell me, when were you walking around the hotel, were you hearing the voices of the rest of the guests, or did you assume that?”
Now that the girl was thinking about it, she didn’t hear anything. No, only the receptionist a few times, and the rest…
“Ah yes, the realization. Yes, we can both read minds and do other things as well, like persuading you to come.”
She can read my mind. “And you on the amulet, what was that for? Why didn’t you help me in that tornado? What else can you do?”
“To persuade you to come. The moment you heard my voice, your body ignored all of its pain receptors telling it that it is in need of repair. That does not mean I healed you, you’re still hurt from that beating. It’s why you’re on the couch and not standing up. It’ll go away in a week or so. I was busy with other things while you were battling that tornado.”
It would have been better if this woman let the police handle this. The girl could have better medical care than magical persuasion. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
The woman sighed. “To answer your original question: I’m your twin sister.”
A sister? The girl was an orphan. There were no records of any living siblings. “How could you be my sister?”
“Now that’s a long and complicated story.” The woman perked up, a smile growing. “Do you want to hear it, Castor? Like the old days?”
“Castor? Like the mythical twins?”
“Why yes, that is your name. It’s the same with me, I’m Pollux, but I go by Helen so that people don’t give me weird looks and get confused about how to spell my name. You can go by Clymnestra if you want.”
“Sure.” Names are like clothing, you used them in certain situations and discarded them when you no longer required them anymore. “I’ll go by Clymnestra.”
The woman chuckled. “You have an odd attitude to names. Reminds me of the time we were flying kites after I summoned that tornado. I don’t know why, but I kept it.” Her eyes started to water. “By then, I couldn’t find you, so I guess it was a nice memory.”
That was in her dreams, Clymnestra thought. “I don’t remember that.”
“Of course not, you lost consciousness and your memory’s half-erased. Besides, that was four hundred years ago, give or take a decade.”
“I’m sorry, four hundred years ago?! How the hell are we twin sisters?! How old are you?!”
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know how old I am. The only one who would know is the Timewarden, and I don’t know where they are. All of us are long-lived, but if we are significantly injured, we enter a period of stasis for recovery.”
Clymnestra examined Helen. No obvious scars. “How was I injured? Why?”
Helen paused. “I…wasn’t there. All I know is that our connection was severed, and I could no longer sense your presence.” Her gaze drifted off to the sunny sky outside the window, eyes cast downwards.
“Are there others?” Other than the Timewarden.
“Yes, including you and me, there are twenty-five of us, scattered around Earth. The database in the Eleventh House or the wall on the Eleventh Gate is our best chance of finding the others. Either that, or we keep searching.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Can I elect not to answer?”
Clymnestra probed Helen’s mind. There were memories of her and Helen watching butterflies and catching them in a small net, the one with the tornado, and a curious one of Helen twirling a white and gold pen like a baton. Most of Helen’s memories were tinged with nostalgia, especially with Clymnestra, however, some of them seemed inaccessible.
“...if you were going to do that, I should have mentioned that half of my mind is blocked off. Apparently, this is a side effect of being in this world.” Helen coughed.
Blocked off? Could Clymnestra do that on her own? She imagined a large filing cabinet, like the one her boss has, except with each drawer labelled properly. Sorting this cabinet, she placed certain parts of herself inside, locked it, and threw away the key.
“I’m surprised you could do that easily. I remember we used to play those little games where you would try and hide your thoughts from me. You know, you always lost to me.” She chuckled. “Maybe after all this is over, we can play a game, just you and me.”
“Yeah, sure.” Clymnestra had no clue what Helen was talking about, but some part yearned to be closer. “What else did we do together?”
“Outside of games? Well, we collected knowledge. You had this book that you were always struggling to carry, I had this pen that I was quite good at using. Oh, and there was the time we broke the energy in our home.”
“What was this energy?”
“I think it would be better if I show you.”
Helen grabbed her white and yellow pen and a book with a black cover with yellow edging. On top of the book was an amulet identical to Clymnestra’s own, except with the black and white colours reversed. She also brought out a phone and switched to loud music.
“Why do we need music?” Clymnestra yelled over the music.
When you tap into the amulet’s power, there’s an aftereffect. It’s different for everyone, but for us, it’s an explosion of sound. I can’t deafen the sound after the transformation so if we want to transform without attracting attention, it’s better to disguise it as loud music rather than a sonic boom. It’s also much easier to draw energy from a source with which we have an affinity.
Clymnestra stared at the amulet in her hand. What do I need to do?
The amulet responds to what you want, so speak your mind. I think we are the only ones with amulets that respond to non-verbal directions.
Her thoughts turned to her own wishes and she closed her eyes. The music synchronized with her heartbeat, and she thought about the people at the cafe. How they live and laugh, despite all that happens outside. How different they all are, so many stories left unread. She wanted to learn more about them, to read about their triumphs, their tribulations, and all their joys and sorrows. To understand another person fully, would be the greatest gift of all.
The amulet emitted a high-pitched sound, exploding in yellow light. Across the room, she observed another yellow light burst into existence.
This is where we take on the amulet’s energy as our own. Don’t resist, it’ll be over in a few seconds.
Clymnestra wished that she did not leave her phone in the hotel room. A symphony of spring overrode all other sounds. Even though she could not see anything other than blinding yellow, a sensation of childlike wonder bubbled to the surface. She reached out into the sparkling lights and a wave of mirth sprung to her fingertips. A child’s laughter filled the area, and it was no more.
“Damn it, I forgot about that part.”
Clymnestra turned towards Helen, and the broken window behind her. In fact, almost all of the ceramics and glassware are shattered beyond repair. Parts of the walls were caved in, the floor is cratered beneath both of their feet, and the music was still blaring loudly into the evening. Helen’s hair was daffodil yellow now, tied in upwards twintails just above the cracked floor. The two coverings were white with yellow stripes, with the sign of Gemini on it. The bathrobe had abruptly vanished, replaced by an outfit in yellow and white, a conjoined skirt with a chevron and a nearly sleeveless top combo. The stockings were thigh-high and had a yellow spade pattern, and seemed attached to her footwear.
Thanks for the compliments, but I think you should take a look at yourself.
Helen smiled slightly. A comment wormed its way into Clymnestra’s head, but she stopped its manifestation, especially in the presence of a mind reader. Taking Helen’s surprisingly undamaged phone, she opened its camera function. Like her twin, her hair and eyes were a lively yellow, with her hair down to her waist in two thick strands. Unlike her twin, her outfit was black instead of white, and she had black pants, not a white skirt. It still has the same pattern. Both of them have a simplified symbol, a rod and some intersecting lines in yellow on their chest. The two most striking parts of their ensemble were the arm guards with a detached yellow blade-like projection with a yellow jewel at the base and the two wire-like appendages attached to an oval device covering their ears. Interestingly, they looked like teenagers.
You like it, don’t you?
That teasing smile again. This time, Clymnestra returned the favour.
I’m glad I have pants. I don’t like skirts very much, always found myself tripping over myself when I run in one. Although I find the pants a little tight.
Hehe, you’ll get used to it after a while. Don’t worry about the damage to the room, I'll call the manager and we will get this mess sorted out.
“Let me try something before we call the manager. It’s already destroyed anyway.”
Clymnestra cleared her throat and shouted. The last of the cabinets broke into a thousand glass shards, and the table warped under her voice. She giggled. Oh, she hasn’t had this much fun since she was playing as a child in the pond near the local orphanage, or so she thought.
“Heh, now that’s the spirit. Oh, and this was the book I was talking about.” Helen handed over the large black book. “I kept it for you.”
The book was surprisingly light despite its size. The pages were empty though, with nary a trace of ink on them.
“...that’s strange, it was almost filled up when I last read it,” Helen muttered.
“It’s been a while, maybe it's all erased or something.”
“I’ve tried erasing everything in there as a prank. It didn’t work and you threw the book at me once you found out.” Helen rubbed her temples. “You didn’t bring any of your stuff back from the hotel, do you want me to go grab it?”
I’ll pick up my stuff from the hotel room, and I already have a bike.
Granted, the bike already had an owner, but does that matter?
Oh, now that’s hilarious. Helen smiled even more. It’s nice seeing you again after all these years, you and your bubbly laughter.
Aw, miss me already?
A little.
On her little bike, Clymnestra beamed. Clymnestra, she could get used to that name. She borrowed a pair of yellow-tinted shades from Helen for disguising her eyes, and the sun was casting a gorgeous yellow tint upon Berlin. Who knew that coming here after a prolonged two-month trip was the event that kickstarted a new period of her life? As she admired the people milling about the river, some sharing intimate conversations, some kissing under the evening sunset, she thought about Helen. How they shared the same tics, the same expressions when they were happy, the same expressions when they remembered.
And the same expressions when they were hiding something.