The Inside Diaries

Arc-En-Ciel

A couple of weeks later, she woke up, tiptoed away from Fernando's sleeping form, and donned shorts and a t-shirt, flip-flops too, for an early morning jaunt before the heat drew scorching rays upon the tropical isle.

Down one street, up another, make a right—

Of course, this took her to an entirely different location now that she was living at Fernando's tree-lined property. Their property. Instead of neighbors out washing their cars, small children laughing in the streets, she paused, staring above her.

A panoply of rainbow-striped umbrellas, forming a covered awning down the main corridor.

Fruit and vegetable stalls too. Intriguing. Was it possible for the Azorian marketplace to extend far further than she had realized?

"Melanija!"

A smile crept up her lips. Definitely. She recognized that voice. "Tory? That you?" The writer followed the chirp of the youthful voice, finally meeting its owner at a dusty stall laden with odd silvery quartz-like objects.

"How was your honeymoon?"

A gorgeous cottage above aquamarine water, set upon stilts, simple staircases leading to winding boardwalks, perfect for walking about on a midsummer night's eve. Bright magenta plumeria bushes, fragrant and full, enveloping various paths, the sky cloudless save for hints of cirrus. A glance into the water, akin to glass, meant a clear glimpse into the wondrous wildlife beneath, the fauna teeming with life, seaweed tufting mounds of honeyed sand, and a sense of calm, love, and laughter besides...

"Nice. Relaxing," she answered the girl, whose hair was, as always, plaited in two perfect French braids, as if she were talking to a compatriot closer to her own age. Tory did seem like an old soul sometimes, with what her emerald eyes and overall manner.

"That's good." Tory brushed a braid off her shoulder, glancing upward at the writer. "Wanna buy one?"

"Um. What—what are they?" Melanija attempted to find a polite way to ask, while inwardly debating the merits and uses of a large unevenly-cut quartz. Maybe in the living room? But do we even have space?

"Sea salt crystals," Tory answered, her eyes sparkling. "For Girl Guides—" she displayed a vest that, Melanija noticed, had certain badges affixed upon it, likely Morgana's doing.

"Like..." Melanija paused. "Girl Scouts?" Tory nodded.

"First one to sell all gets a prize."

The writer pondered this a moment. "What's the prize?"

"I think..." Tory's brow furrowed, "a pony?"

Melanija laughed. "You think, or you know?"

"Well...they didn't exactly say. But I'd really like a pony—"

"Tory," Melanija gently leveled with the girl. "A pony's a large creature. Where'd you find the room? How'd you feed it? Might be tricky—"

"What if it were a magic pony?" Tory proffered, her imagination forming thoughts of enchanted quadruped creatures.

"What if..." Melanija plunked down a bill, "it were a toy pony? That could become magical in your imagination?"

Tory pushed a quartz-like piece toward Melanija, a coal-sized object. "I'm listening..."

"So maybe, I was thinking about a dark toy pony named Midnight, three inches tall, that when enchanted or whatever, grows life-size. For helping someone travel between magical realms. Or friend's houses. Might write it into a story. What do you think?"

The child grinned. "One thing—"

"What's that?"

Tory gave her the largest sad puppy eyes the writer had ever seen on a child's countenance. "Can I be in that story too?"

"Of course."

An hour later, Melanija returned to Fernando's property—we really ought to name this place, she thought to herself. Villa Valleta? Villa Veneto? Plunking the salt crystal the kitchen counter, she traipsed outside and stopped, realizing she was about to walk into a three-foot sunken-in pool of water. What the—

She stared. It vaguely resembled a miniature Roman bath, or what she would have envisioned—chiseled edges, simple rectangular steps demarcating a path into crisp, refreshing water, to combat the heat wave unfolding upon the local area.

"Like it?" Melanija turned, spotting Fernando on the shaded portion of the balcony, approaching her with glass cups of what appeared to be fruit smoothie, one of which he offered to her, with a kiss upon the lips.

"Very," she murmured, taking a sip. "Wow—" The flavor combination was really something—"I taste...strawberry...blueberry...coconut...and banana...and...and..." Was that orange or? Something tasted vaguely citrusy—

"Grapefruit."

"Right. Grapefruit. I could get used to this," she added in the next breath as Fernando chuckled. Catticus came up behind them, winding around their ankles, purring contentedly before stepping away to resume his nap.

"We still got more to do—"

"I thought we already cleared the kitchen wall? Renovation-wise?" The writer tilted her head, puzzled.

"Well. Yes. But the backyard. It could use..." he gestured toward the dried grassy area, somewhat unkempt. "A little...something—"

An idea occurred to her. "Fernando, what if we turn it into a cozy outdoor area? For watching movies? Inviting folks over? Lantern lights and all?"

"I think," he spoke slowly, mulling the idea over in his mind, "that sounds like a great idea."