Dance Across Waves <LionFish>

A Surfboard Sandwiched Between Walls

The joy of eating parfaits dissipated quickly, taken over by the feeling of gut-twisting heartache, at least, for Freminet. The day Lynette proposed they go out to munch on dessert became a distant memory, leading up to the night before Lyney's big show.

Lyney was, of course, pumped, Lynette was elated, and Freminet was frightened. The diver (Freminet) knew he had no right to be afraid of a show he wasn't even participating in. He would be in the audience, or somewhere doing his own hobbies individually. However, the act of being in Liyue, a place he wasn't adjusted to — a place with people he could not predict. He'd have to speak to them, look at them, they'd look back...and surely, people would find out he's related to the great magicians Lyney and Lynette.

How ripped off they'll be to find out the brother of two of the greatest magicians is beyond

Useless — Freminet mused.

The boy sat in his respective room, thinking this way for a while, sinking and choking in the torrent of his own mind.

The siblings' house was dark, but all of their bedrooms offered forms of light, Lyney's the brightest, Freminet's the darkest (with the exception of a night light) and Lynette's the balance.

Lyney was busy reciting his performance's script for the 12,344th time. Since this would be his first show in a different region, he wanted to make a special speech that would touch the souls of each crowd member. But, no speech goes amazingly without the help of practice, which Lyney was making sure to do a lot of.

He kept repeating the same words, trying out various tones of voice and hand movements, and increasing the sound of his steps.

"Do you believe in magic...intrigues what the eye cannot simply comprehend," Lyney's voice went high, and then trailed off into the night like sand particles in the wind.

Lynette groaned audibly, having to hear her twin brother project his voice on and on, and marched over to Lyney's room, the two now exchanging commentary, which became an (lighthearted) argument.

Freminet sat against the door in his bedroom, treating it like a surfboard— a kind of support he could float on against the waves of his inner turmoil. The one with freckles wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face into them. The argument outside his door continued, just muffled yapping hearable.

Freminet began to cough, lifting his head up and continuing to cough into his arm.

I don't feel good. I'm weak.

Freminet's coughs halted, and he motioned to get Pers, holding the little penguin close and looking around his room. It bared ocean posters and maps he pinned to the wall of places he wanted to visit, and so much more. Looking at the room, Freminet felt okay for a moment, as if the door really was helping him float above his worries, mimicking the act of a surfboard above challenging waves.

Even if this door was inevitably stuck to its place in the wall, nowhere near as compatible for the waves as a real surfboard, the door, in a way, could serve the same purpose — to provide stability and control.

Arguably, Freminet considered, the door could be remarked as

a surfboard sandwiched between walls.